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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541636">The Desperate Housewives of Sabaody Archipelago</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollydewinter/pseuds/mollydewinter'>mollydewinter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ASL Brothers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angsty Ace, Bad Parenting, Bitter Exes, Don't worry it gets better, Drama, Ghost Hunters Zoro and Usopp, Goth Dad Mihawk, How much akataka can i put before it gets too much, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, No Concrete Plot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pro Wrestler Luffy, Rating May Change, Slice of Life, Stripper Ace, Suburbia, Therapist Jinbei, Violence, it's basically one shots but also not really, pettiness robbery and fraud, roger tries, shenanigans all around</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:21:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollydewinter/pseuds/mollydewinter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Drama, pettiness, suspense. Their lives truly have it all. Follow a series of stories detailing the lives of probably the world's most interesting people, their saucy secrets and their complicated relationship with the law.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk, Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Portgas D. Ace, Gol D. Roger/Portgas D. Rouge, Monkey D. Luffy/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Nami/Nefertari Vivi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roger's Son</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everybody! I'm so so excited to finally be posting this fic I've been planning for literal months! It all more or less started three years ago when I started writing Keeping Up With the Joestars, which is basically this but jjba, and I was like hmm, this would look great in One Piece. And so, here we are :D</p><p>These stories are mostly one-shots with a different theme every chapter unless otherwise indicated. There's some background drama obviously, but you'll learn more and more about it the more the story goes on. Like I say in the tags, the rating may change as I'm planning some explicit scenes and haven't yet decided if I'll include them or not. For now, I'll leave it at mature and see how it goes! Also, there are some characters and ships I don't mention in the tags because it would be waaayyyy too long otherwise. For now, I tagged the ones that will be our main focus.</p><p>In this first chapter we start with Ace, who decides to take matters in his own hands and finally find a job to support his mom. How will his parents react? How will it affect his already strained relationship with his Dad? And anyway, what sort of jobs pays him enough to buy his mother diamonds?</p><p>I hope you enjoy this first chapter and stick around for all that's to come :D Please tell me your thoughts in the comments below. Enjoy :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roger’s Son</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Unlike what his friends believe, Ace is actually an early bird. He just enjoys sleeping, a lot, and the fact that he wakes up at a reasonable hour in the morning means he can enjoy more naps during the day. Provided, of course, he has the time for that. That morning, the beautiful, sunny winter morning, Ace wakes up slowly, spending the first few minutes lazily rolling in bed, scrolling through his Instagram. It had been a quiet night for most; neverending studying for Sabo, cooking for Sanji, dicking around for Luffy and Usopp. Ace yawns and stretches, hearing his joints pop and crack. Finally, he gets up, quickly throwing on a sweater to shield himself from the cold of his room. </p><p>The moment he steps out of his bedroom, the all-too-familiar scent of freshly made breakfast hits him. He smiles, waking up in an instant. He quickly hops down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. He stops midway, realizing the need to piss is more urgent than his desire to eat. After finishing up with the bathroom, he goes straight for the kitchen, to find his mother standing over the stove, humming to herself as she’s flipping pancakes. </p><p>A toothy grin appears on Ace’s face as he tiptoes all the way to her. He hugs her from behind, making her yelp while pressing a kiss to her freckled cheek.</p><p>“Good morning,” he grins.</p><p>“Good morning, sweetheart.”</p><p>He fills himself a glass of water and sits down on the table, watching his mother prepare breakfast with a faint smile on his face. His gaze moves around their little kitchen. The small house doesn’t look that suffocating with all the light pouring in. As always, there’s a vase of fresh flowers on the counter, along with a small pile of envelopes. Before Rouge can react, Ace has them in his hands, browsing through them with furrowed brows. Some are spam, most are bills and warnings. One week to go for the water, three weeks for power.</p><p>Rouge snatches the envelopes from her son’s grasp and quickly shuts them in a drawer. Her smile never wavers. She presses her lips on her son’s head, the same way she always did when she wanted to kiss his frowns away.</p><p>“We’ll manage,” she says and goes back to the stove.</p><p>Ace can’t remember when he had first heard her say that. The little cafe is doing well but it’s not enough for three mouths, a house, a car, an education. Rouge can’t afford to hire someone to help around work and so Ace had taken upon that role, managing to get some of his friends to help, as well. It’s not enough, but Rouge will never admit it. Ace is a hardworking young man, he wants more than anything to help his mother. But whenever the topic of him finding a full-time job comes up, Rouge quickly shushes him. Again and again, she’s told her son to prioritize his studies, not knowing he has no interest in that whatsoever anymore. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her, instead chooses to make up stories of projects and classes and how he’s not at the top of his class but he’s definitely trying. Any guilt his lies create, melts at the sight of Rouge’s eyes shining with pride upon hearing all of this. Ace being a university student is her pride and joy. She had eloped before finishing her studies, with a head full of air and love and a child growing inside her. There was no way she’d ever let him work and abandon his studies, even though he only wants to help her. And besides, it’s like he could find work for more than a week.</p><p>“Listen, kid. You’re pretty great. Really! It’s just that...your old man is kinda...notorious, you know?”</p><p>“You know how much we love you, Ace. And the fact that you’re Roger’s kid has nothing to do with your being fired!”</p><p>“Hey, look on the bright side! Now that you’re laid off and Roger’s out of jail, you can spend more time together!”</p><p>Excuses, excuses. Ace could write a whole book of them, probably title it ‘1001 Ways My Deadbeat Father Has Ruined My Life’. No matter how he beat around the bush, the pile of unpaid bills and his inability to hold a decent job all boil down to the same cause: Fucking Roger.</p><p>Anger bubbles inside him, the familiar bitter taste of sorrow covers his tongue. He had grown used to this feeling, this very special type of forlorn rage, to the point he feels incomplete without it. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing instead on the world around him. He’s in his mother’s pink kitchen and their little house smells like love.</p><p>With a satisfied smile spread on her lips, Rouge sets two plates filled with fresh, fluffy pancakes on the table. Ace’s eyes widened with glee, watching as she poured maple syrup over their special Saturday breakfast.</p><p>“Are we eating together?”</p><p>“These aren’t for me, sweetheart.”</p><p>At first, Ace feels confusion. The door to his parents’ room opens slowly. There’s a yawn and the sound of heavy feet, so much bigger than his, growing closer and closer. That’s all it takes for his confusion to turn to dread. </p><p>Roger’s grinning face bursts into the kitchen before his hulking frame does. Rouge smiles at him, going to give him the first kiss of the day. Ace’s stomach drops. His appetite vanishes into thin air, which goes to show exactly how miserable he feels.</p><p>His parents pay him no mind for the first few moments, giggling and cuddling like teenagers instead. Rouge says something about skipping breakfast to go water the flowers but Roger is having none of it. He throws his wife over his shoulder, carrying her back to the breakfast table as her joyous laughter fills the room. They sit so close together, it’s nearly impossible to say whose limbs are whose. There, a big happy family.</p><p>“Good morning, son.” A big, heavy hand ruffles Ace’s jet-black locks. The young man freezes completely.</p><p>“Ace, say good morning to Dad.”</p><p>Ace snaps his neck to the side, locking eyes with Roger. In response to his vicious glaring, Roger simply smiles and asks him how he slept. Ace’s jaw is clenched so tight, he believes his teeth will turn into dust. Is Roger not aware of how infuriating he is? How insulting? How much Ace wants to take his fork and stick it in his eye?</p><p>He holds his tongue and pushes the plate away, something that draws a soft gasp out of his mother’s lips. He knows he’s breaking her heart but he also knows how to piece it back together. The sadness of seeing her son hate his father won't last. Soon enough, Roger will be gone again, to some grand adventure with Rayleigh.</p><p>“I’m going to the flat,” is the only thing Ace says. He stops to give his mother another kiss, all the while still glaring at Roger. “Have a good day, Mom.”</p><p>“What about me?”</p><p>“You can go choke.”</p><p>With that, Ace leaves. The house instantly grows quieter, colder. It takes him only a few minutes to haphazardly get dressed and leave, slamming the door shut behind him. Rouge holds her face in her hands as she suddenly begins to sob, holding her face as she does so.</p><p>“No, no, don’t cry,” her husband soothes her lovingly. He takes her in his arms, caressing her blonde locks with the utmost care. “It’s okay. You know he’s a good kid, he’s probably having a bad day.”</p><p>Rouge shakes her head. She grabs a fork and digs it into Ace’s discarded breakfast, cutting out a generous bite. “It’s not that,” she manages through chewing. “I want you to get along.”</p><p>“We do!” A lie. A blatant lie. Roger feels guilty about lying to his wife but he’d do just about anything to never see tears on her big brown eyes ever again. “I’m telling you, he’s probably having a bad day!”</p><p>“He’s a polite boy,” Rouge mumbles. “Why is he always like this with you?”</p><p>Roger knows. He knows about the loans and the bills and the fact that no one will hire his son. He knows all that from Luffy. Luffy talks, a lot, enough for Ace to kill him if he ever finds out. Luffy had told him that all of Ace’s rich friends had offered to help him but he refused every single time. For Roger, the biggest issue isn’t his son’s pride. Whitebeard, that old piece of shit, is more of a father to his son than Roger ever was. Of all people, it had to be him, because fate hates Roger. Fate wants to punish him for being a bad husband, for leaving his wife to struggle almost entirely on her own and for never being there for his son. A cruel but fitting punishment, if he said so himself, having his only son think of his rival as a father.</p><p>“Honey, look at me.” He takes his wife’s face between his warm, calloused hands, wiping the tears with his thumbs. “He’ll come around. He’s a hothead, like his old man. I was so much worse when I was his age.”</p><p>Rouge seems to calm down, if only a bit. “You’re probably right,” she says though she knows she was wrong.</p><p>Roger grins. “Now, eat up before it gets cold!”</p><p>To make her morning even better, Roger races to their bedroom and jogs right back, clutching a fat wad of cash in his hand. Rouge’s brows rise almost to her hairline as she eyes the money. She glances at it, then at her husband. Roger is smiling, awfully pleased with himself.</p><p>“Where did you get this?”</p><p>He shrugs. “Work.”</p><p>Work. No one knows what Roger does for a living and when asked, he always gives some noncommittal answer. The details are somewhat unclear to even his wife and partner for almost 25 years, though she’s aware the legality of the whole affair is rather… nonexistent. </p><p>She sighs and takes the money in her hand to count it. “Roger, look at me. It’s not drugs, is it?”</p><p>“Of course not!”</p><p>With narrowed eyes, she studies his face, trying to find anything out of place. He’s telling the truth, thankfully. She stands up and fetches the bills from the drawer. Now then. What to pay first?</p><p> </p><p><br/>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>During the week, Ace spends some days at the flat downtown. It’s a nice enough place he and Sabo got when they turned 18, to gain some form of independence. It’s next door to Shanks’ place, so that Luffy can come and go with no problem. They actually make it work, somehow, and Ace enjoys splitting his time between his brothers and his childhood home. Shanks, though far from a responsible adult, takes care of the kids and helps them with whatever they might need. The only downside to having him as a neighbor is the too frequent visits from Roger and Rayleigh. Guess there really is no escape.</p><p>Sabo is studying, once again, nose buried in some book as he sits on the couch. Luffy is sitting in front of the TV, scarfing down a bowl of cereal. Ace is close by the window, watching the city below. It’s a busy Saturday morning and the streets are bustling with life. He should go to the cafe soon but he’s not ready to face his mother yet. The guilt is eating him up. Making her sad is something he absolutely despises.</p><p>“Roger’s back,” he sighs.</p><p>“Yeah, he had dinner with us last night,” Luffy informs him casually.</p><p>Ace’s neck snaps towards his little brother, glaring daggers at him. He marches towards the younger man but Sabo places a leg between them, holding Ace back. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”</p><p>“Tell you, what? That your Dad’s coming home?”</p><p>“Yeah! I could have been prepared! I could have left!”</p><p>Sabo lowers his book, enough to reveal his judgemental gaze and quirked brow. “Stop being such a dick. It’s just your Dad.”</p><p>Ace scoffs. Those guys don’t get it. All Luffy ever had for a father was Shanks and they get along perfectly. As for Sabo, Roger is a saint compared to his parents. This is the only thing they can never agree on and it drives Ace insane sometimes </p><p>He slumps on the couch, crossing his arms and scowling deeply. Roger probably brought money. He always does that when he mysteriously reappears every three months or so. A wad of cash gained through questionable means and there, all their problems are solved. He stays around a while, mainly to piss Ace off by existing, before disappearing again, Rayleigh in tow, leaving his poor mother to deal with everything on her own.</p><p>“I need to get a job,” he concludes. Close-minded as it sounds, he’s the man of the house. Rouge is young and she’s going to work herself into an early grave. It’s all fallen on her, the shop, the house, the raising of a rowdy kid. At least Ace gets more sensible as he grows. It’s been twenty-three years and Ace has had enough. Time for his mother to live life selfishly.</p><p>“Do you have anything in mind?” He shakes his head. “Why don’t you go to Shakky’s? Heard she’s looking for a new waiter.”</p><p>Ace snorts. “Roger practically lives there. I doubt she wants me throwing hands with the customers.”</p><p>“Why don’t you ask Whitebeard for help? A man like him surely has his connections.”</p><p>“I don’t need anyone’s help.”</p><p>Sabo frowns. He turns his gaze to the book, blocking Ace off. “Fine. Keep being so stubborn, see if you’ll find a job this way.”</p><p>“Why don’t you become a stripper?”</p><p>Luffy, in many ways, is like a lottery ticket. No one knows what will come out of his mouth. His brothers both stare at him, shocked to realize that he’s actually dead serious.</p><p>“You’re good with a pole.” True. Ace still doesn't remember how he picked pole dancing up but he’s darn good at it. “And you’re a good-looking guy. It seems like a great idea to me.”</p><p>“Only downside is all strip clubs here are owned by Doflamingo. I don’t wanna work for him.”</p><p>Ace deflates. So much for finally finding a solution.</p><p>“Amazon Lily isn’t his.”</p><p>Sabo snorts. Deciding he can’t study like this, he shuts his book and places it on the coffee table. “C’mon, Loof. You know Amazon Lily is only for women.”</p><p>“So what?” Luffy argues, as if Sabo is the dumbest person in the world for not seeing what he sees. “I bet Hancock will make an exception if I ask her.”</p><p>The plan was too optimistic. Ace didn’t expect anything different from Luffy. Sabo laughed, saying that Hancock would probably not give them the time of the day but Ace was desperate enough to have some faith.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p><br/>Unlike the city’s other strip clubs, Amazon Lily was an establishment that exudes pure elegance and regality. The three brothers are made to wait in a foyer of sorts, decked out in plush, crimson rugs and gilded mirrors. It’s mainly empty, save for a few workers that clean and prepare the place for when it opens tonight. The girls are all very friendly with Luffy, even excited to see him. They’re happy to meet the brothers he’s told them so much about and so far, Ace only gets positive energy from the environment.</p><p>“Hancock is ready to see you now, Luffy.”</p><p>The three boys step inside Hancock’s office. It follows the rest of the place’s aesthetic. It’s spacious, mostly red, looking every bit like a royal’s private quarters.</p><p>“Luffy!”</p><p>Hancock stands up from behind her humongous desk. She’s exactly the type of woman that makes everyone a little bit breathless with just a look, though the casual smiles and hugs when she stands up to greet them feel like they belong to a different person. Ace knows her, the way he knows everyone. She doesn’t really interact with other people, aside from a few selected ones, almost all of them being women. She smiles at him and Sabo, eyeing them with interest.</p><p>“Sit down,” she says and points to the plush armchairs set in front of her desk. “May I offer you anything? Luffy, have you eaten today?”</p><p>Before Luffy can respond that no, he has never eaten anything in his entire life, Ace cuts him off. “We’re fine, Miss Hancock. Thank you.”</p><p>Hancock chuckles. “Miss Hancock. You’re very polite. That’s a good sign.”</p><p>“I already told her you wanna work here,” Luffy stage-whispers.</p><p>Ace leans forward, nails digging into the armrests. “Really? Then what do you say?”</p><p>Hancock takes a moment to gather her thoughts. Ace’s stomach sinks when he notices how sceptical she is. She runs a thumb across her chin, trying to form a response.</p><p>“Here’s the thing,” she starts and Ace falls back on his chair, already defeated. “You’re a good kid, Ace and I have a great deal of respect for your mother. But-”</p><p>Ace doesn’t bother letting her finish. He clicks his tongue and looks down. How could he be so naive as to think that for once, just once, things could have gone his way? “There’s still Roger.”</p><p>Hancock quirks a brow. “Roger?” she questions. “What does he have to do with this?” Ace looks up, confused. Now that’s a first. Never heard it before. “Wait. You think I don’t wanna hire you because you’re Roger’s kid?”</p><p>“...yes?”</p><p>Hancock snorts. She waves her hand dismissively and flips her hair back, revealing her long, pale neck. “I don’t care about that. You are Luffy’s brother first and everything else comes in second.”</p><p>“But you still have doubts,” Ace presses on. What else could it be? Now that the biggest problem about him is out of the way, what is it that makes Hancock so hesitant? Hancock nods. “Why?”</p><p>The older woman looks at him, wondering if he’s actually serious. “Ace,” she begins, slowly, like she’s talking to someone with half a brain cell. “Amazon Lily allows only women. Which means that both the employees and the customers are exclusively women. All of them.”</p><p>Ah. Of course. Should have known from the”GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS” and “NO BOYS ALLOWED” neon signs at the front door. Ace was so caught up in the delight of finally getting a job that he had completely forgotten that Amazon Lily was made by and for women.</p><p>“Can’t you make an exception?” Luffy whines. “Ace is cool! Lots of people want to see him get naked!”</p><p>“Luffy,” Hancock sighs. “I would really love to help, you know that. It’s just… I can’t ruin my brand like that!”</p><p>Before all hope can be officially lost, Sandersonia speaks up. “Actually, we could try and expand a little bit.” Her older sister eyes her with intrigue. Sandersonia scrolls a bit on her tablet and shows the screen to Hancock. “There’s a large market for ‘himbos’ out there. It’s a big trend!”</p><p>“Himbos?”</p><p>“Yeah. Beautiful and non-threatening boys, jacked, polite and not very smart. Like Ace!”</p><p>Ace throws a hand over his barely covered chest. “I’m a himbo,” he exclaims. “I’m the guy you’re looking for!”</p><p>“He could be our diversity hire!” Marigold adds and Sandersonia nods eagerly. “Plus, we can cash in on the trend before Doflamingo does.”</p><p>That last bit is all it takes for Hancock to agree with the idea. Pure delight shines in her eyes at the thought of beating the competition. She slams her hand on the desk and smiles broadly. “It’s still a tough job.”</p><p>“I can do it!” Ace reassures her. “I can do anything, just tell me when to start.”</p><p>Hancock reaches into one of her desk’s drawers and pulls out a thick folder, probably the schedule. She purses her lips as she studies it. Ace waits impatiently, feeling the sweat roll between his shoulder blades. </p><p>“How about next Friday? The shift starts at 11 PM but you can come earlier and get a tour of the place. Unfortunately, you have to find an outfit on your own since we got nothing for men. Oh, and a stage name.”</p><p>“A stage name?”</p><p>Hancock nods. “Nothing vulgar, please. This is a respectable establishment, after all.”</p><p>The joy and excitement follows Ace for the rest of the day. The feeling is simply unparalleled and unlike anything else had ever felt before. His brothers talked to him on the way home, congratulating him on the job. Ace barely registered their words. His head was in the clouds, high in the heaven of employment. </p><p>“Any ideas for a stage name?”</p><p>Their footsteps brought them back home, accompanied by a mountain of take out from the Baratie. Being friends (and amicable exes) with the sous chef has its perks. Containers of food lay on every flat surface available and the boys are already at it. Surprisingly, Ace has only picked on his food so far, not minding that his brothers are hogging everything. He’s sitting on a chair, feet propped up on the table, open notebook set on his lap.</p><p>“I got nothing,” he sighs, exhausted.</p><p>It has to be something fire related. So far, they had thought of everything. Ace looks down at the numerous suggestions, finding one dumber than the other. Hotboy, Flaming Cheeto, Prince Zuko. The list goes on. Ace taps the pen against his lip, putting all his creativity into work.</p><p>“Ask your mom for help.”</p><p>“I’m not going to ask my mother to find me a stripper name!” The sentence sounds more absurd once spoken. </p><p>“Won’t you tell her about the job?” Sabo asks.</p><p>Ace stops the effort. He throws the notebook on the couch and grabs a box of fresh lasagna. He often wonders if he only ever got with Sanji because of the food. </p><p>“I won’t tell her about <em>this</em> job.” He takes a bite and it just melts in his mouth. “I’m not ashamed or anything. Just… not ready yet.” The others nod, understanding. Ace turns his fork towards them, eyes narrowed. “If word of this gets to anyone, I’m never talking to you again.”</p><p>His brothers gasp, feigning insult. “We would never!”</p><p>“How could you even say this!”</p><p>Ace decides to trust them, though he isn’t entirely convinced. His brothers are his favorite people in the world but they talk. They talk so much. Luffy is especially dangerous. He blabs things to the wrong people and ends up being the instigator of a gossip chain of ridiculous proportions. </p><p>There’s a knock on the door and Luffy goes to answer it. It’s Shanks, intrigued by the smell of food that had spread over the entire floor. He’s back from the gym and starving, eager to eat just about anything.</p><p>“Got my ass handed to me again,” he says as he struggles with a steak. He doesn’t seem too mad about his defeat. Actually, he sounds delighted. “The guy’s vicious.”</p><p>Sabo quirks a brow, smiling a little. “I thought you two were done sparring.”</p><p>Shanks snorts. He gives a little shrug and continues trying to handle the steak with only one hand, refusing to give up. “Guess Hawkeyes underestimated just how addicting of a man I am.”</p><p>Suddenly, an idea blooms in Ace’s mind. “Shanks,” he begins, “who came up with ‘Hawkeyes’?”</p><p>Shanks blinks a few times, not understanding the question. “...his parents?”</p><p>“No, I mean the nickname!”</p><p>“Oh!” Shanks smiles, brimming with pride. “I did, of course. We came up with each other’s, actually. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Could you do one for me? Find me a nickname?”</p><p>Shanks was the perfect man for the job. Unknown how, but every nickname Shanks came up with sounded like a stripper name. Case in point ‘Hawkeyes’.</p><p>“It’s for the Youtube channel we’re making,” Sabo adds quickly before Shanks can get any idea of what they’re really doing. Ace flashes him a questionable look and Sabo grimaces back. </p><p>Shanks leans back, falling silent. He hums to himself as he thinks. “It has to be something fire-related,” he muses. “Can’t be anything cheesy like ‘Firecracker’ or stuff like that.” He scratches his stubbly chin. “Remember when you guys were kids and fought a lot? Luffy said your punches burned.”</p><p>“You all ganged up on me because I was the youngest,” Luffy mumbles under his breath.</p><p>“How about ‘Fire First? Sounds pretty cool if you ask me. Almost too cool for a Youtuber.”</p><p>“Fire Fist,” Ace murmurs, tasting the name on his tongue. He closes his eyes, trying to visualize it. He’s on the stage, covered in red glitter as the crowd below howls for ‘Fire Fist’. He smiles, looking at the redhead with wide eyes full of gratitude. “I love it! Thanks, man!”</p><p>Shanks grins. “Don’t mention it, kid.” Deciding that a one-armed battle against a steak is nearly impossible, Shanks pushes it aside, reaching for some pasta instead. “If any of you ever become strippers, don’t hesitate to come to me for stage names,” he laughs.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p><br/>Hancock was right. The job is difficult, the pace is entirely different than when pole dancing for exercise or persona enjoyment. Like every time, Ace is absolutely exhausted when he stumbles back to his room. He blindly reaches for a bottle of water and pours it all over himself. His body feels like it’s on fire, he’s shining with glitter and sweat. He stops before his reflection, studying it with a breathless smile. God, he’s hot. Literally and metaphorically. He has never felt hotter, more desired, or… important than when he’s on the stage, with all the lights turned on his body, painting him gold as he moves, spins, grinds, sets the world around on fire. By his third week of working at Amazon Lily, he’s already making all the clients go crazy for ‘the diversity hire’. The nickname is an instant hit as well and it goes perfectly with the persona he’s created. Overall, he’s perfect and his skimpy little shorts are bursting with money by the time his shift is over.</p><p>It’s 4 AM by the time he’s done cleaning up and changing. The club is closing down and he can hear the girls going to their changing rooms. There’s a knock on the door and Hancock steps inside, giving him a polite smile.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“Hey, Boss.”</p><p>She snorts. In his brief but exciting time working at Amazon Lily, Ace has discovered that Hancock is a rather peculiar breed of human, though still purely divine. “Going home?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He can only understand his exhaustion once he’s out of his slutty cowboy costume. </p><p>Without saying a word, Hancock tosses him a thick wad of cash that he catches in mid-air. “A bonus,” she explains with a shrug. “You’ve been an asset to the team, Ace, and I wanted to give you this a welcoming gift.”</p><p>Ace’s throat has gone dry. Just counting the money is making him dizzy. This has to be about two thousand bucks, almost twice of what he made in tips. He looks up, trying to find the words to express his gratitude.</p><p>“Thank you,” he mumbles slowly. “Thank you so much.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it. Now go home and rest, you still need to work tomorrow.”</p><p>When Ace gets into his car, he feels like he’s going to cry. He pinches himself yet again, trying to see if this is truly, actually happening. In less than a month of working at Amazon Lily, he has made what his mother makes in six months. He keeps some for himself but the biggest portion is for her. He has no need for it. The only thing missing from his life is Rouge’s happiness.</p><p>The city is a strange mix of asleep and awake as he drives down the street. The windows in most houses are dark yet the streets are bustling with life, people coming and going from parties and nightclubs. He decides to go to his mother’s house instead of his place. It’s a Sunday tomorrow and there’s nothing better than waking up to the special Sunday breakfast. He’s in such a good mood, he’s even willing to tolerate Roger’s presence.</p><p><br/>Sundays are for Sunday lunches. Specifically, family lunches. The whole pack has gathered, drinking and laughing and eating. Mostly drinking. They’re lucky they don’t have any neighbors, otherwise they’d have the cops at their door every single time. </p><p>Ace remains mostly detached from the whole affair, eating his food in relative silence, only talking to Luffy or his mom. Shakky can stay but she’s on thin fucking ice. When he checks the time, he sees it’s already 8 PM. He should get going soon, to warm up and make some adjustments to his costume. One of his coworkers was actually nice enough to show him how to sew sequins on denim. </p><p>“If you’ll excuse me,” he says and pushes his plate away. </p><p>“Where are you going?” Rouge asks. </p><p>“I have somewhere to be,” is the non-committal answer Ace offers. It’s not enough. He can see the suspicion shining clear in his mother’s big brown eyes. He’s going to tell her but every time he thinks about doing it, he holds himself back. Ace knows Rouge wouldn’t object to his career choice. Simply put, it’s not his being a stripper that he worries will distress his mother. Somehow, he has to find a way to tell her that he’s abandoning his studies, at least for the time being.</p><p>“Can you come with me for a sec?” he asks quietly. </p><p>Rouge follows him upstairs to his bedroom and Ace ushers her in, closing the door behind them. “Is everything alright, honey?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ace rummages into his backpack, trying to find something. He presents Rouge with a dark blue velvet case that bears the logo of one of the fanciest jewelry stores in the entire city. </p><p>The surprise on Rouge’s face borders on shock. She looks down at the case and again at her son. “What is this?” she mumbles.</p><p>“It’s a gift!” Ace beams. Finally, something better than flower seeds and macaroni art. “Open it.”</p><p>Motivated only by her curiosity, Rouge opens it. The contents are simply stunning and that makes her worry even more. It’s a bracelet, a delicate little thing that gleams and catches all the light in the room. It consists of several hibiscus blossoms tied together with dainty chains. </p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>How can she not? Rouge has never been the one for jewels, though her husband always presented her with one whenever he returned from his voyages. Still, she appreciates the finery.</p><p>“Here. Let’s put it on.”</p><p>Ace fastens it around her wrist. It sits prettily against her pale skin, dangling a bit loosely but not loose enough to slip. “Where did you get the money for this?”</p><p>Ace simply offers her a nonchalant shrug. “I was saving up for a while. Think of it as a belated Christmas gift.” It’s obvious Rouge doesn’t believe him even for a second. Before she can voice her concerns, Ace has planted a kiss on her freckled cheek and is quickly heading downstairs.</p><p>“Wait! You didn’t tell me where you’re going!”</p><p>“I’m just going to the flat. I need to study.”</p><p>“Why aren’t you taking Luffy, then?”</p><p>Ace rolls his eyes. “I don’t want him bothering me, Mom. I don’t know why you’re so worried but everything’s fine, really!”</p><p>And just like that, he’s out the door, leaving behind his coat and a mountain of questions. Rouge glances down at the bracelet. If it wasn’t for her son’s frequent and mysterious night outings, she might have believed he had saved enough to buy her something so expensive.</p><p>“Rouge?”</p><p>She jumps, startled. Shakky stands behind her and Rouge had barely taken notice of her presence, deep as she was in her thoughts. Words aren’t necessary for them to communicate. Shakky approaches, clearly sensing her distress. Instead of an answer to her inquiring gaze, Rouge shows her the bracelet.</p><p>“Damn…” the other woman whistles, impressed. </p><p>“Ace bought it,” Rouge explains. “He says he saved for it but I don’t believe him, Shakky.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“He goes out so much and he wears so little,” the blonde responds. “He leaves at night and comes out when the sun rises.”</p><p>“Maybe he’s in a relationship.”</p><p>Rouge shakes her head fervently. She thought of that but quickly scrapped the idea. She knows who her son was pining for and she very well knows he’s been out of town for a while now. No, it’s not a relationship but something else, something that fills Ace with enough guilt to make him hide things from his mother. </p><p>“I’m worried,” she confesses. Her voice is shaking. Days’ worth of tension manage to roll down her cheeks in the form of tears. The fear of her son being into shady business is suddenly too real, pressing down on her back, threatening to snap her in two. Her son, her little boy. She was so young when she had him and all her friends told her she was wasting her life but on the contrary. Rouge’s life began the first time she held Ace, no bigger than a bundle of limbs and chubby, freckled cheeks.</p><p>“What has he gotten himself into?”</p><p>“There has to be a logical explanation for this,” Shakky rationalizes. She leans back into the dining room. “Luffy! Come here and help up with the dessert, sweetie.”</p><p>The young man practically teleports to where they are, grinning from ear to ear. The two women lead him into the kitchen, so far unnoticed by the others. Shakky sits him down on a chair and Rouge closes the door.</p><p>“Luffy,” Rouge begins very seriously. “I need your help.”</p><p>“With dessert!”</p><p>“No. With Ace.” She sits in front of him, staring into his eyes. “Luffy, I need you to be honest. I’m begging you to tell me the truth.”</p><p>Luffy can feel it coming. He can see it in the concerned tremor filling Rouge’s voice and the way she’s squeezing his hands. A bead of sweat cuts between his brows. He swallows thickly.</p><p>“What is Ace up to?”</p><p>The question is vague enough to let Luffy play it cool. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Look at this,” she hisses and shows him the bracelet. “How did he afford this?!”</p><p>“M-Maybe he saved for it!”</p><p>“There’s no point in lying, sweetie,” Shakky huffs. “Just tell us what he’s up to.”</p><p>“There’s nothing going on!” Luffy reassures them. But his voice is shrill enough for them to doubt him, his entire face is covered in sweat, his gaze is twitchy, avoiding theirs.</p><p>Rouge slams her fist on the table. She loves Luffy. She thinks of him as a son, having practically raised the boy alongside Shanks. He’s a sweet kid but she’s desperate. Before he can act, she snatches the hat off his head and jumps on the table, holding it high above her head. </p><p>“Swear it!” she shouts. “Swear that my son isn’t involved in anything dangerous! Swear to me that he’s not going to be in jail in a month’s time!”</p><p>“He’s not a criminal!” Luffy yells back. He jumps on the table but Rouge hops on the counter. </p><p>“I want the whole truth, Luffy!”</p><p>“There’s nothing going on! That’s the whole truth!”</p><p>“Swear it! Swear it on Shanks!”</p><p>Luffy persists but Rouge is surprisingly agile when fueled by the rage of a worried mother. She climbs on top of the fridge, holding the straw hat against the ceiling. Luffy jumps, desperately trying to get a hold of it. </p><p>“There’s nothing bad going on!” the boy cries again.</p><p>“But there is <em>something</em> going on! I want to know what my son has gotten himself into!”</p><p>The door opens slowly and Roger stands behind it, holding the cat. It’s a huge, orange beast of a thing, easily putting Garfield to shame, whose only concern is sleeping, eating, and wreaking havoc at 3 AM. Roger stands at the doorway, baffled by the sight before him. His wife is still perched on top of the fridge, looking every bit like an enraged bird. Luffy stands below, reassuring her through his tears that Ace isn’t selling drugs.</p><p>“...what?”</p><p>“Ace bought Rouge an expensive bracelet and she wants to know how he got the money for it,” Shakky explains calmly, taking a drag of her cigarette. She scratches the cat’s head and he leans into her touch, purring up a storm. “Luffy knows how Ace got the money but he can’t tell her.”</p><p>Roger nods, understanding. He lets the cat down and the fat animal goes straight to his overfilled food bowl. Roger approaches cautiously, smiling softly. “Rouge,” he starts. His wife’s attention shifts to him. He stretches out his arm, offering her his hand. “You’ll hurt yourself if you fall from there.”</p><p>The tension on Rouge’s face melts like wax. She sighs heavily and lets her husband take her into his arms and lower her on the floor. Gently, he takes his old hat from her grasp and plants it down on Luffy’s head. As the young man turns to leave, Roger grabs him by the back of his neck and shoves him down on a chair. </p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>The commotion attracts Shanks and Rayleigh. They both step into the kitchen, curious as to what the fuss is all about. Luffy’s gaze immediately falls on Shanks and he lets out a silent scream for help. </p><p>“What’s going on?”</p><p>“Ace is into some shady business.”</p><p>“It’s not shady!” Luffy yells. He looks around, realizing he’s surrounded. Roger crouches before him, scowling. Luffy gulps. He was pretty excited when he finally became an adult, thinking that the world was at last to be his oyster. However, looking at these guys made him feel small, like a toddler that was about to be scolded for breaking a vase. </p><p>“Does it have anything to do with Whitebeard?” Roger asks. Luffy can’t lie. So when he fervently shakes his head, Roger accepts the answer. That’s a relief. </p><p>“They made me swear not to tell you anything!”</p><p>“They?” Rouge quirks a brow. She doesn’t even need to question who the other person included in this scheme is. She’s lucky she’s dealing with Luffy. Sabo would have lied straight to her face.</p><p>“But I promise you it’s not bad. Really! It’s just a job!”</p><p>“A job?” Rouge looks down at the diamonds on her bracelet. What sort of job pays this much? She suddenly looks up at her husband, eyes wide. “Roger, he’s an escort.”</p><p>As all hell is once again about to break loose, Luffy feels a firm yet reassuring hand on his shoulder. “There’s no need to gang up on Luffy like this,” Shanks starts.”If he says it’s fine, then it’s fine. There’s no reason to doubt Ace.” Except for his two arson convictions. “He’s a good kid and an adult. He knows what he’s doing. Why don’t you try being happy for him? He’s been trying to find a job for too long!”</p><p>In a way, Shanks is right. But the knot in Rouge’s gut persists. This doesn’t sit right with her. “What about university?” she questions. “And what sort of job is this, anyway? How much are they paying him?”</p><p>“I doubt he’ll tell us even if we ask him directly,” Roger sighs. “It might have the opposite result, actually.”</p><p>He glances at his wife. Usually, she’s the one to solve tensions with Ace. To be honest, she’s in charge of everything Ace-related and Roger thinks it’s enough. Time for him to act like a parent, whether Ace likes it or not. </p><p>He lifts his head and finds Rayleigh. The other man is already looking at him. Roger shrugs and gives a little nod towards Rouge. Rayleigh opens his mouth but the only thing that ever comes out is a defeated sigh.</p><p> </p><p><br/>...</p><p> </p><p><br/>“How does that make sense in your head?”</p><p>Buggy grits his teeth. He’s a minute away from snapping, as is always the case with Shanks. He wants to grab the redhead by the neck and rub his smug, piece-of-shit face off on the seat. </p><p>“It’s your head that has the problem!” he barks. He takes a calming breath, trying desperately to hold himself back. “It’s in the north, right? And things that are in the north are colder, everyone knows this!”</p><p>“I keep telling you, it doesn’t matter!” Shanks replies, making several veins pop and throb on Buggy’s neck. “They’re the POLES, Buggy! The Earth is round so it’s the same thing top and bottom! The South Pole is a continent, a mass of frozen land! That means it’s colder than the North Pole because that’s just frozen sea!”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘land is colder than ice’? Ice is ice! There’s nothing colder than it!”</p><p>“The land can freeze, too! </p><p>“Fine then!” Buggy exclaims, both exasperated and on the verge of exploding. “I’ll start putting rocks in my iced coffee since it’s colder than anything, apparently!”</p><p>“Might as well make sure you don’t choke!”</p><p>Just as Buggy opens his mouth to either respond or finally snap and bite the redhead’s throat out, the passenger door opens and Rayleigh climbs inside. He’s holding a tray with four cups of coffee and hands them out to his companions.</p><p>“It’s been forty years,” he sighs.</p><p>“He started it,” Shanks and Buggy grumble at the same time.</p><p>Rayleigh purses his lips. Doesn’t matter how many years go by. In his eyes, these two are still the toddlers he adopted on a whim with his best friend and somehow managed to raise into semi-responsible adults. </p><p>“I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it.”</p><p>As he sits down on the passenger seat, he hands Roger his coffee. The other man reaches for it blindly, mumbling a ‘thank you’. It’s been close to an hour and the times he has spoken or moved can be counted on one hand. He sits still behind the wheel, gaze fixed on the apartment building’s entrance. He looked up, trying to make out anything from the window but it’s too high up. For now, he can only wait for Ace to come out and see where he goes from there.</p><p>Was he proud of what he was doing? No. Did it feel right? Also no. Is It the only way of learning just what his son was up to? Apparently, yes. To be honest, Roger is the last person to demand access in Ace’s personal life. The fact that he’s not around doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, whether Ace likes it or not. The image of Rouge’s eyes, red from crying about their son’s escapades keeps playing in his head. Ace will be royally pissed off if he discovers, but Roger is ready to take the lashing. He deserves it.</p><p>The clock on the dashboard informs them that it’s only a couple of minutes away from 9 PM. Light snow is falling from the wine-colored sky, just enough to make everything appear like it’s coated in powdered sugar. There’s only a few people still out. It’s a cold and snowy weekday, after all, though there’s always those few that see it as an opportunity to go bar hopping.</p><p>9:25. Roger drums his fingers against the steering wheel, growing more and more impatient. His coffee is getting colder, though he doesn’t need it to stay awake. So far, nothing. He’s willing to spend the whole night in the car, waiting for Ace, even if nothing happens. </p><p>A sudden <em>tap tap tap</em> against the window shatters the anxious silence, making them all jump. A familiar face peers into the car, already tired but not surprised with the shenanigans.</p><p>“Beckman called. Said you were up to something incredibly moronic again and I decided to come supervise.”</p><p>Shanks’ grin practically splits his face in two. He scoots further in, squeezing Buggy against the other side, making plenty of room for Mihawk. The dark-haired man climbs inside and sits beside Shanks. He shudders a bit, slowly getting used to the warmer temperature.</p><p>“Good evening,” he greets as he gets inside. “Hey, Red.”</p><p>“Hey,” Shanks smiles. Buggy rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath. “Want some coffee?”</p><p>“No, thank you. I could use something else to warm up, though.”</p><p>“Of course,” Shanks mumbles through a soft, honey-sweet smile. He rummages into his coat and presents Mihawk with a flask of brandy. As always, Mihawk gives him a little huff of disapproval. He still accepts the drink with wordless gratitude, bringing it to his lips and letting it roll down his throat. </p><p>“It’s good,” he remarks and passes the flask back to Shanks. The redhead quickly opens it and takes a sloppy, hasty swig, wanting to taste the other’s lips while the memory is still warm.</p><p>It’s almost 10 PM when Ace walks out. He has a spring to his step and is talking to the phone with someone. As always, he’s dressed too light for the season. Something about the conversation makes him laugh. He heads for his car and he unlocks it. He tosses his duffel back in the trunk and climbs inside, taking off shortly after. Roger lets him gain some distance before taking off.</p><p>There’s enough traffic to provide a cover for them. They follow at a relatively close distance, though still appearing completely normal. For the sake of discretion, they have taken Buggy’s car, since Ace is unfamiliar with it. Slowly, the scenery begins to shift. The busy city streets give their place to the more spacious country roads. They’re in the suburbs now and their surroundings consist of the city’s most extravagant nightclubs and all sorts of establishments meant for entertainment. In the near-absolute darkness of the snowy night, Doflamingo’s nightclub - one of many -  shines like a neon pink sun. For a moment, Roger fears Ace is headed for that place but no. He keeps on driving, thankfully passing by Kaido’s places, too, without much of a glance to spare.</p><p>“Where is he going?” Rayleigh wonders quietly.</p><p>Where, indeed? Roger keeps on driving, feeling his sweaty palms slip off the steering wheel. He’s staring at the back of Ace’s head rather than the road, as if trying to get a glimpse of his thoughts.</p><p>Suddenly, Ace stops. Roger slams on the brake, making the other four all leap forward rather inelegantly. He watches as Ace’s car - Rouge’s, really - stops in front of a massive iron gate, one that goes around an even bigger building. It opens slowly and the car goes in, leaving the five men to wonder.</p><p>“What the hell is Ace doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p><br/>Through the years, Roger and Rayleigh had perfected the art of sneaking around and remaining unnoticed. Not only is it an extremely useful skill in their line of work, but it proved to be extremely valuable when it came down to their rambunctious sons. To this day, their most successful operation remains the one that happened almost thirty years ago. It was Shanks’ first ever proper date, with a boy that glared too much and spoke too little. They had taken - stolen, really - Roger’s Cadillac (which he had previously stolen himself) and had gone out to a quiet spot that overlooked the entire city. Roger and Rayleigh remained at a close distance behind, hidden in the bushes, entirely unnoticed. Their exit was also discrete and soundless, and they’re pretty sure neither of the two has any knowledge of it ever occurring. Surely, with a skillset such as this, sneaking into Amazon Lily would prove to be a child’s play.</p><p>Except, it wasn’t. The problem doesn’t lie with security. It’s a strip club, after all, not a prison. The main obstacle proves to be time. It shows its teeth for the first time when Roger tries hopping over a fence, reminding him of the 70 years he’s been on this planet for, in the form of a sharp stabbing pain that blooms in the center of his spine. Rayleigh is in slightly better condition, somehow, though the reminder comes for him as well, just as bitter as Roger’s.</p><p>“You do it, Buggy.”</p><p>“Why me?” Buggy stage-whispers.</p><p>By ‘it’, Roger means climbing to one of the windows and seeing if they can get any information as to what’s going on inside, and more importantly, what Ace’s business is. </p><p>“Make Shanks do it!” He pauses. He stares at the redhead, then at the hollow left sleeve of his coat. “Make Hawk-”</p><p>“Don’t even think about it.”</p><p>Buggy grits his teeth, inhaling sharply. Why couldn’t he have been adopted by someone normal, someone with a legitimate job and a retirement plan that didn’t include getting arrested every other Thursday? Don’t get him wrong, he wouldn’t trade life with Roger and Rayleigh for the world. He just wishes he could spend the afternoon making candles with his husband instead of trying to break into a strip club.</p><p>“C’mon, Bugs!” Shanks eggs him on. “Don’t be a pussy!”</p><p>“Coming from you!” the other man barks back. “And don’t call people ‘pussies’, dude. It’s kinda weird.”</p><p>“Actually,” Mihawk points out, “the word pussy derives from pusillanimous, which means cowardly and has nothing to do with genitalia. So… don’t be pusillanimous.”</p><p>It’s a 4-on-1 battle and Buggy is clearly losing. He accepts his fate with a sigh and a groan, as he climbs on Roger’s broad shoulders. He reaches up, using a ledge as leverage.</p><p>“You see anything?” Roger inquires.</p><p>“Nope. The curtains are drawn.”</p><p>“What about the one next to it?” Shanks suggests and Buggy wants to punch him in the face more than he usually does. “There’s some light coming from it!”</p><p>Indeed, the heavy velvet drapes aren’t drawn all the way, letting a sliver of light sneak out. Buggy inches closer, practically pressing his face against the cold glass while trying to make anything out. From the little hints he gathers, it seems to be an office space. The entire floor appears to be carpeted, dressed in plush crimson, and a wooden desk stands near the window.</p><p>“Do you see Ace yet?”</p><p>Buggy doubts Ace is in that room but he keeps on looking, eyes narrowed, gaze focused. A pair of high-heeled feet comes into view and before he can react, Hancock throws the curtains open and glowers down at them with what can only be described as red-hot fury.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Inconceivable! The audacity, the nerve to come to my operation and spy on my girls, disrupt my peace and offend my clients!”</p><p>Hancock is boiling in her own blood, pale skin turned almost completely red. Her hands are laced behind her back as he paces up and down behind her desk, stopping only to shoot daggers at the intruders. The five men are sitting in front of her desk, silently watching her explode on them, while her sisters stand somewhere behind, as a vague threat so to speak.</p><p>“How do you explain yourself, Rayleigh!?”</p><p>Rayleigh looks up, surprised. “Hey, wait. Why am I getting all the blame? It’s his son we came here for!”</p><p>Roger’s jaw drops. After sixty years of friendship (marriage?), he knew this day would come. “Excuse me? Everyone knows you’re the brains of the operation! Besides, wasn’t Buggy the one that climbed up to the window? Why are we getting heat for it?!”</p><p>“What!” Buggy shrieks. “I only did it because Shanks couldn’t!”</p><p>“Don’t make it sound like I chickened out!”</p><p>“Enough!” Hancock commands before the others can start bickering amongst themselves. She exhales through her nose like a mad bull, glaring at them with pure venom. “I will not hear another of your pathetic excuses! What you did was unforgivable and I still have to consider a penalty worthy of your crime!” She stops, still fuming, and stares them all down, one after the other. She pauses for a moment when her gaze finds Mihawk. “Is that the sweater we saw together the other day?”</p><p>Mihawk looks down, as if suddenly realizing what he’s wearing. “Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly. “I thought about it when I got home and went back the next day. I got the green one for Zoro, I think he liked it.”</p><p>Hancock nods. “Is it still up for tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yes. By the way, do you like sangria? Perona made way too much and I’m giving away bottles.”</p><p>“You didn’t give me any,” Shanks mumbles bitterly, furrowing his brows. </p><p>Mihawk quirks a brow at him. “Didn’t know you were interested.”</p><p>There’s a soft knock on the door and Hancock nods for Sonia to answer it. Ace steps inside, dressed in the pair of gray sweats he stretches in. As soon as he spots his father, his face drops in a deep scowl.</p><p>“Thought I smelled a rat in here,” he remarks. He takes a seat on the couch  that stands near the entrance, as far away from Roger as possible. “Did they cause too much trouble, Boss?”</p><p>Hancock shakes her head. “They were caught before they could get inside.”</p><p>Ace nods, understanding. “If you want to fire me, I-”</p><p>Hancock raises a hand to shush him before he can speak any more nonsense. “I never even considered it. I don’t see how this is your fault. To be honest, I think you’re far more annoyed and offended than I am.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Ace murmurs, managing a small smile. “May I please have the room? It will only be a minute.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>The Boa sisters depart and the moment the door clicks, the temperature in the room drops by at least ten degrees. Ace’s face is hard beyond its years, heavy with bitterness and what can only be disgust. </p><p>“Get out,” he snaps. </p><p>He doesn’t need to say it twice. One by one, his father’s companions get up and leave. Rayleigh is the last to exit the room. He glances between Ace and Roger, sighs and follows the others, shutting the door as he goes.</p><p>Ace leans back, looking at his father through heavy lids. The room is silent, the air is heavy with 23 years’ worth of tension. Roger is quiet, somber, aware of the hole he dug for himself. Ace hates it. When he’s quiet like this, Roger is unreadable. All Ace needs is a word, that’s what it will take to make him punch Roger in the face or finally snap and strangle him to death. But his father is giving nothing away, choosing instead to stare at him with brown eyes full of guilt, same as the ones Ace has.</p><p>“Your bullshit almost cost me my first decent job.” There’s a smile on Ace’s face as he hisses out the words but his voice bears no mirth. He’s shaking with anger, clawing the sides of the couch. “Why would you do that? Haven’t you caused me enough harm already?”</p><p>“I never meant to get you into trouble!” Ace scoffs, dismissing Roger before the other man even speaks. It’s too late now. One minute of talking won’t save 23 years of non-action. “I only did that because I care!”</p><p>Ace quirks a brow. “You care?” he parrots, lip curled as he speaks. </p><p>“Your mother and I are worried about you. You’re out every day and you suddenly have all this money…” He pauses. Ace is glaring at him with narrowed eyes, full of suspicion and rightful anger. Roger sighs. No matter what he says, he can’t make this right. Might as well tell the truth. “I wouldn’t have done anything if I knew this would have gotten you in trouble! I only did it because I love you!”</p><p>That’s the final push Ace needs to snap. “Oh my God!” he shouts as he jumps up. </p><p>As he heads for the door, Roger springs on his feet and stops him, grabbing him by the wrist. Everything he does seems to be pissing Ace all the more. The young man yanks his hand free and bares his teeth at his father.</p><p>“Don’t fucking touch me!” he growls. “How dare you talk to me about love as if that means anything to you? As if you can feel it for anyone other than yourself! You ruined mom’s life and you’re ruining mine! You abandoned us, dropping only every once in a while to show off before fucking off with that other asshole, Rayleigh! Do you know the hell Mom and I went through because of you? Do you even care?”</p><p>“Ace-”</p><p>“Don’t speak my name!” Ace takes a step back, pressing his back against the door as he reaches for the handle. “Mom is forgiving enough to let you back into her life but I’m not. You’re not my father. I’m not your son. You’re not part of my life, you never were. My only family is my mother and my brothers. I never asked for you, I never wanted you and I sure as hell don’t need you.”</p><p>He stops, breathless. The room is quiet, his throat feels dry, clashing with the wetness in his eyes. He sniffs, refusing to spill another tear for a man that never wanted him. </p><p>“Go to hell, Roger,” he mumbles as he opens the door. “I hope you never come back.”</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>It’s close to midnight when Rouge jumps up from her light and restless sleep. She blinks around the room, feeling the cold and empty spot beside her. She hastily rolls off the bed, reaching for her robe and slippers. The bedroom is toasty but the hall outside is an entirely different story. </p><p>The lights in the living room are on and she can hear sounds of life. It’s nothing specific, so to speak, just a heavy breath, an occasional sigh, the soft rustling of paper. The cat is sound asleep, rolled on his back, exposing his fat and content belly to the world. Rouge tiptoes past him, peering around the corner and into the living room.</p><p>Roger is sitting on the couch, slumped over the coffee table, absorbed in something. He briefly looks up when his wife enters the room and greets her with a mechanical, mirthless smile. Rouge sits next to him, pulling him under her arm. Roger is a big man, even now, 25 years later, but he always shrinks to fit in her embrace. They share the silence, listening to each other breathe. Rouge cards her fingers through his hair, still dark, despite all of his friends having turned gray long ago.</p><p>“He hates me.”</p><p>She holds him closer, leaning in to kiss the top of his head. </p><p>“He said it to my face, Rouge. He hates me.”</p><p>“Don’t take it to heart,” she soothes. Deep down - or not at all, really - she knows the bitter truth. “He’s just a boy.”</p><p>“No, he’s not.” Roger sits up. There’s a photo album laid on the coffee table, filled with family pictures. He runs his thumb over one of them, depicting a chubby little baby boy nestled in his father’s arms, yanking at his mustache. </p><p>“‘He’s a grown man,” he sighs, voice shaky. “In my head, he’s still that tiny little thing we brought home so many years ago. And all because I wasn’t there to see him grow up.” He turns to her, brushing a long lock of hair behind her ear. “Forgive me. It all fell on you.”</p><p>“Roger,” she pleads, cupping his face. She still hasn’t asked if the mission was a success, though judging by the wetness under her fingertips, the question is unnecessary. “You’ve done the best job you could have as a parent.”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me, Rouge. I’ve been doing it to myself for years, believing that it’s only a phase and other bullshit like that. He has every right to hate me.”</p><p>“Roger!”</p><p>He shakes his head and gathers her delicate hands into one of his own. “Our son,” he mumbles. “You nearly died to bring him into this world and I managed to ruin his life so easily.” He slumps forward, elbows on his knees and fingers curled into the roots of his hair as another unbearably heavy sigh escapes him. “I lost him, Rouge. And I absolutely deserved it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It's The Most Wonderful Time of The Year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On this Valentine's Day, Sanji has a secret, Law wants to get laid, Ace gets a date and Shanks has plans.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everybody! Just here to drop a valentine's day chapter 10 days after the actual day lmao I had so much fun writing this one and I have to say, the amazing response to the first chapter was what motivated me :D Thank you all for the lovely comments and support, looking forward to hearing more!</p><p>As promised, this one's a little lighter than the last one. The story has no concrete plot, though there are some dynamics that will become clearer the more the story progresses. You're free to ask for more details, though I can't say much without spoiling the fun ;) Also, as we get into shippy territory, I'd like to make clear that characters (except for like actual children) are 20 years and older. I still don't know what to do about the rating but like I said, it's not explicit. Yet.</p><p>I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'd love to hear from you in the comments :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <span class="u">It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Ah, Valentine’s Day. The day to celebrate love and all the joy it brings, share it, watch flourish and multiply. On such a day, the streets are bustling with people coming and going with bags in their hands, flowers, chocolates, teddy bears big enough to fill a whole room. At Sabaody, this holiday is celebrated to the fullest, perhaps more than any other. As it is, all businesses around town are decked out in hearts and little cupids in preparation for the army of lovers that will flood to them once the evening comes.</p><p>The Baratie is no exception. Although Zeff is mostly jaded at this point, he allows his staff to go all out with the decor. He even tolerates switching his plain white hat with one that has little hearts on it. It’s only one day every year, he’s willing to let them have this much. Besides, the customers seem to appreciate the effort.</p><p>The owner is sitting in his office, studying the day’s special menu, when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Sanji, poking his head inside and giving him a sheepish smile. Zeff leans back and returns the smile. His grandson is arguably the king of this day and in charge of the decoration. On Valentine’s Day, Sanji loves his job a bit more. However, as he steps inside, Zeff notices slight hesitation in his posture and expression. There’s no cigarette, no heart patterned tie.</p><p>“Something wrong?”</p><p>“No, everything’s great,” Sanji reassures him perhaps too eagerly. </p><p>Zeff narrows his eyes. “Tell me. Is there a problem with the supplies?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Last-minute cancellations.”</p><p>“...sort of.”</p><p>Zeff huffs. Typical. “It’s happened before, no big-”</p><p>“It’s me.” As his grandfather looks up to him, confused, Sanji sits on one of the armchairs in front of Zeff’s desk. “I know this is last minute and I’m sorry, but can I have the evening off?”</p><p>Zeff blinks at him, surprised. This day belongs to Sanji, it’s the only thing he talks about once Christmas has passed. He’s more shocked than he is annoyed, to be honest. “What happened?”</p><p>Sanji struggles a little to find the right words. “Something came up.”</p><p>Zeff quirks a brow. “Something?” The expression on Sanji’s face is priceless. The old man falls back, laughing, making his grandson even more flustered. “You got a little date, don't you?”</p><p>Sanji clicks his tongue, feeling his cheeks catch fire. “Will you give me the day off or not?”</p><p>Zeff folds his arms and looks at the younger man. He moves on, ignoring him. “What’s her name?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Her name,” Zeff repeats. “If you want the day off, fine. But you have to tell me what it’s about, first.”</p><p>“Why?” Sanji snaps. </p><p>“Don’t use that tone with me,” the older man barks. “Go on, tell me. I have to know if she’s worth it.”</p><p>Sanji balls his fists. The old man is such a headache sometimes. Most times, really. For a moment, he considers dropping the subject but that will most likely have the opposite effect. Zeff won’t let him hear the end of it.</p><p>“It’s not a girl,” Sanji admits. “It’s a guy.”</p><p>“Oh. Why didn’t you tell me it’s Ace?”</p><p>“Because it’s not.”</p><p>Sanji is struggling. A lot. Zeff can’t remember ever seeing his grandson like this before. He cocks his head to the side, searching for Sanji’s gaze. But the young man avoids looking at him, choosing instead to bury his face in his palm and groan.</p><p>“I can’t tell you who it is, okay? Just… give me the day off.”</p><p>Zeff furrows his brows. Well, now he’s all the more suspicious. “Why? Why can’t you tell me who it is?” They’ve always shared pretty much everything with each other so this isn’t a matter of breaching Sanji’s privacy. There’s something else going on here, something that frustrates him to the point of tying his usually sharp tongue in a knot.</p><p>“Because it’s embarrassing,” Sanji admits in a single, exasperated exhale. </p><p>“Embarrassing?” the old man mumbles. Sanji nods. “Why?”</p><p>Sanji lets out a deep sigh. “I’m going to tell you,” he says, “but you have to promise not to laugh.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><br/>When Ace woke up that morning, he was greeted by the sound of his brothers bickering amongst themselves. He steps out of his room blearily, trying to figure what has gotten them both so worked up at 10 AM. Shanks is there, watching the scene while enjoying an omelet.</p><p>“Why are you two so damn loud first thing in the morning,” he grumbles as he drags his feet into the kitchen in search of some coffee.</p><p>“Ace! Sort this out for us!,” Luffy demands and turns to his eldest brother. </p><p>“Don’t drag him into this,” Sabo snaps. When it comes to arguments, Luffy is a force to be reckoned with. Like Sabo himself, Ace has a soft spot for their baby brother. Surely, if he were to be involved in this argument, Sabo would end up losing.</p><p>“What’s the issue?” Ace sighs and hops on the breakfast bar. Sabo glares at him for yet again, sitting his ass down on the table where they eat.</p><p>“I have a date with Law and I want the house!”</p><p>“And I have a date with Koala and I want the house!”</p><p>Ace sighs again. He looks into the dark depths of his coffee and the abyss stares back, having the tired eyes of a man that hasn’t had sex in a year and has to work on Valentine’s day. It’s been six years since Sanji, three since Yamato and then there was Deuce, but only for a little bit. The fact remains, his brothers both have dates on Valentine’s Day and he needs to find a place to sleep.</p><p>“Why don’t you stay at your place?” Sabo argues.</p><p>Luffy scowls at him. “The hell am I supposed to do with Shanks? Shove him in the closet?”</p><p>“Actually,” Shanks pipes in after swallowing. “I won’t be home tonight.” The arguing pauses. The room’s attention shifts to him. He shrugs casually and offers the boys one of his trademark casual smiles. “Figured you’d need the house so I made some plans myself.”</p><p>“Plans?” Luffy repeats. “Like what?”</p><p>Shanks leans back, giving him a noncommittal smile. “Don’t be nosy, now.”</p><p>Of course, saying that didn’t deter Luffy. If anything, it helped increase his curiosity and persistence. “Are you and Hawkeyes together again?”</p><p>Shanks laughs and the sound startles Ace, making him spill some - thankfully lukewarm - coffee on his lap. It’s too loud, too forced. “I’m afraid that ship’s sailed long ago.”</p><p>“Is it someone new?”</p><p>“I’m not going to tell you, Luffy.”</p><p>Luffy furrows his brows. He’s willing to let this go, for now. Sabo smiles and marches over to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. It has to be his second of the day, if the twitch in his eye is anything to go by. “That settles it,” he says with a pleased hum. “I’ll be here, you and Law will be next door and no blood will be spilled!”</p><p>“And where am I supposed to go?”</p><p>Sabo looks at Ace, clearly not understanding the question. “Don’t you work tonight?”</p><p>“Well, yeah. I still need a place to sleep.”</p><p>“Go to your mom’s,” Sabo says casually. </p><p>“Don’t do that,” Shanks says before Ace can argue back. “Your parents wanted me to tell you that they need the house tonight.”</p><p>What a horrible thing to say, what an absolutely dreadful sentence to bring into this world! Ace focuses on the contents of his cup even harder, praying the mental image away. </p><p>He can hear his phone going off in his room and he groans as he drags his feet all the way to where it is.</p><p>Nami: <em>heey &lt;3 vivi and i wanna get cute vday’s tats</em><br/>Nami: <em>meet us outside izo’s in 20 mins</em><br/>Nami: <em>im not asking btw</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><br/>Nami and Vivi are disgusting together, disgusting in a way all cute things are. They’re all smiles and holding hands and more than often, they’re wearing each other’s clothes. When Ace meets them outside Izo’s tattoo place, it’s the whole package deal and for bonus points, they’re sharing a bagel.</p><p>“Why is my presence necessary?” Ace inquires as the three of them make their way inside. He doesn’t really have somewhere to be, he’d just rather not breathe around any more cute couples. </p><p>“Friends and family discount,” Nami says and Ace should have known. </p><p>Izo’s place, like always, smells like freshly made tea, the kind Kiku is passing around to the waiting customers. Although it’s a tattoo parlor, it’s also a hotspot for Whitebeard’s children to gather and relax. The atmosphere is homely, heart-warming in the purest way. Ace is all smiles and cheerful waves as he makes his way to the front desk, where the owner himself is seated.</p><p>“Ace!” the older man exclaims, smiling brightly at the triad. “So good to see you! What brings you here?”</p><p>“My friends want to get matching tattoos,” Ace briefly explains before Nami takes over. </p><p>“We want to get clouds with little thunders coming from them,” she says. “On the forearms, right babe?” </p><p>Vivi nods. “I’ve never done this before so I’d like to go first. Be over with it as quickly as possible."</p><p>Izo takes them to the back and starts prepping Vivi up. Nami stands beside her, reassuring her that the pain is not as great as she thinks. Ace is sitting on the couch, thinking if he should cave in and get finally get a tramp stamp.</p><p>As he’s browsing through a book of designs, a commotion in the outside area attracts his attention. It sounds like cheering and clapping, not bad, though still alarming. Izo is almost out of the room when Thatch comes barging in, grinning from ear to ear.</p><p>“Look who’s here!” he beams and pulls Marco inside. </p><p>Ace’s heart freezes, his lips let out a faint gasp as they fall open in a small circle. Marco walks inside, casual and smiling like he’s just stepped out of bed. But his eyes widen when he sees Ace for the first time in months, cheeks heating up ever so slightly. A smile blooms on his face, lazy and sweet, like all things about him.</p><p>“Hey,” he exhales. </p><p>“Hey,” Ace mumbles back. He’s walking, he realizes, and when did he even stand up? Seconds later, he’s standing right in front of Marco, looking up to him. “Welcome back.”</p><p>“It’s good to be home,” Marco smiles at him. Only him. Thatch is talking smack again but they both ignore him, heading for the couch instead. They sit side by side, sharing the same, small space after what feels like years. Everyone else in the room has disappeared.</p><p>“Congrats on the job.”</p><p>Ace looks up, surprised. The grapevine works in strange ways when it comes to their circle. “Thanks.”</p><p>“How’s it been so far?”</p><p>“It’s actually way better than I expected. Hancock’s work ethic is incredible and the girls are very welcoming. It’s a difficult gig but I enjoy it a lot and it encourages me to stay fit. The money ain’t bad, either.”</p><p>Marco hums. He’s smiling as Ace talks, listening to him carefully, clearly enjoying the younger man’s excitement. “That’s good. Any crazy fans yet?”</p><p>Ace pauses to think for a minute. He’s not sure if the woman who offered him two thousand bucks for his thong counts. “Not yet, though someone asked my mom if she’s <em>Fire Fist’s</em> mother at the supermarket the other day.”</p><p>Marco laughs. “Is that your stage name?” Ace nods enthusiastically, flashing the older man a cheeky grin. “Oh, Ace,” Marco mumbles. He falls back on the couch, looking at Ace through heavy lids, blue eyes sparkling like beads. Ace leans closer, close enough to share his breath. “To be honest with you, I was disappointed when I heard you’re working at Amazon Lily.”</p><p>Ace quirks a brow. “Why’s that?”</p><p>“Because I can’t be there every night, watching you from the first row.”</p><p>Ace inhales sharply, slowly. <em>Fuck</em>. A hand reaches up, softly caressing his freckled cheek. Ace can feel his heart drumming in his chest. Marco’s touch is soft but his eyes are dark, gleaming with lust, need, desire.</p><p>“We can arrange for a private session,” Ace purrs. </p><p>It’s so close, so close Ace can grab it, taste it. Finally, after years of pining and being told he’s too young, too naive, too small for him, Marco is responding. </p><p>“Are you free tonight?” Marco asks. </p><p>Ace answers almost immediately before freezing. “I…” he mumbles slowly. His chest deflates, heart sinking, heavy with disappointment. “I work tonight.”</p><p>At first, Marco seems disappointed. It lasts only for a split second before his expression returns to what it normally is. “What time do you get off?”</p><p>“3 AM.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Marco chirps and Ace has to do a double-take to realize it’s genuine. “That’s when my shift at the hospital ends.”</p><p>The gesture is sickeningly sweet, more than Ace is able to withstand. Yet he reaches for it, allows himself to be greedy, just this once.</p><p>“Won’t you be tired?”</p><p>Marco smiles. He reaches up, tucking a stray lock of jet-black hair behind Ace’s ear. “I’m willing to pull an all-nighter if it’s for you.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Perhaps in another, better timeline, that thing in the middle of the counter would have been dinner. It’s… charred, too black and flaky to say with certainty what it is. Or once was. It’s still smoking, filling the entire neighborhood with its scent of<em> chicken alla charcoal</em>. They had to open the windows to let the foul smell out before it burned out their lungs or set off every smoke detector in the building. </p><p>Luffy’s scowl deepens. He takes a fork and stabs his creation. It’s hard as a rock and when he pulls out, one of the dents is chipped off.</p><p>“What went wrong?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” the young man cries in exasperation. He crouches beside Law and they both take to staring at the oven. “I followed the recipe Sanji sent me, I did everything by the book.” Though he’d like to trust his boyfriend, Law has his doubts. “It said to bake at 350 for forty minutes!”</p><p>Law freezes. “Fahrenheit.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“350 degrees Fahrenheit.” Luffy blinks, not sure what point Law is trying to make. “Luffy, this oven is in Celsius!”</p><p>Quite indeed, the oven was in Celsius. There wasn’t even an option for 350 degrees, Luffy had just chucked it at the highest temperature and had left it to its own devices. The result, whatever that thing is, feels very alive, in a unique, cursed way. </p><p>“Why’d you even try this? Cooking isn’t your strong point.”</p><p>“I wanted to do something nice for you,” is the explanation Luffy gives and it puts a smile on Law’s face. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”</p><p>He walks to the breakfast bar and sits down, staring gloomily around. He reaches for one of the chocolates Law brought and chucks it in his mouth. Law walks up to him, standing behind him as he wraps his arms around Luffy’s shoulders. </p><p>“It’s alright,” he says soothingly. “There are still things we can do.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I wanna eat!” With that, Luffy hops off the stool and goes to his phone. “You know I can’t work on an empty stomach.”</p><p>They end up on the couch, browsing their take-out options. Naturally, they are first drawn to the Baratie. However, Valentine’s Day is always awfully hectic for the already busy restaurant, meaning that the waiting time is way longer than what Luffy can tolerate.</p><p>
  <em>“Gimme twenty minutes and I’ll have your food over.”</em>
</p><p>Killer is the one who saves them, he and his simply delightful little pasta place that’s slowly becoming a staple for the locals. Luffy whines a little but decides to let it go after Killer promises to throw in some dessert, free of charge, of course. </p><p>“How’d you get Shanks to leave the house?”</p><p>“Said he has a date,” Luffy says like it’s the weirdest thing in the world. </p><p>Law quirks a brow. “Is he back together with Hawkeyes?”</p><p>Luffy shakes his head. The gossip - whatever it is - is definitely juicy and dramatic. Luffy has no mind for it, choosing instead to completely change the subject by eagerly kissing his boyfriend, pressing him down on the couch as they lock lips. Law’s surprise lasts only for a second before he smiles into the kiss, pulling Luffy in his embrace, making him comfortable between his legs.</p><p>“We got twenty minutes before the food gets here,” the younger man murmurs. </p><p>It’s tempting and Law would be a liar to say he’s not about to give in. It takes all his will to push Luffy back gently, to resist those big brown eyes and grabby little hands that pull and tug on his clothes. </p><p>“I have a better idea,” he smiles, fingers curled in his boyfriend’s hair. Luffy actually pulls away, intrigued by what Law has in mind. “I’ve been awfully tense these days and I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to give me a backrub.”</p><p>Luffy grins, letting out a little snicker. “That right?” Law nods. His hand moves lower, tracing lines on the side of Luffy’s face. Luffy grabs it and brings it to his smiling lips, giving it a small kiss.</p><p>He hops off and runs into his bedroom while Law quickly discards his sweater, tossing it on the floor and rolling on his stomach. Luffy is back in a matter of seconds, carrying a bottle of massage oil, sporting a wide grin on his face. He climbs on top of Law, straddling his behind and he rolls up his sleeves, eager to get to work. Luffy’s ability to change moods in the bat of an eyelash has always astounded Law, amongst other things. The failed dinner and the ruined surprise are quickly forgotten as Luffy begins working on his boyfriend’s back, pressing down on the stiff muscle, undoing the knots.</p><p>“You’re so stressed,” he remarks. Law groans as Luffy digs his fingers into his shoulders, rubbing firmly. He is stressed, Law was born this way. Studying his ass off during the day and working at the hospital at night isn’t helping, though some time spent with Luffy eases his worries. He completely melts under the younger man’s touch, sighing in bliss as though dexterous hands slide up and down his back and shoulders, tracing the path that is inked on his skin.</p><p>“There,” he hums as Luffy rubs a particularly nasty spot on his shoulder blade. His legs twitch and he buries his face into one of the pillows, muffling the little sounds that escape him. “God, you’re the best at this.”</p><p>“You mean I got competition?”</p><p>“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t take my affection for granted.”</p><p>Luffy laughs at that, loud and warm and as always, the familiar sound resonates within Law’s chest. “Asshole,” Luffy murmurs and leans down to nibble on his boyfriend’s ear. Law shifts, rolling on his back as Luffy gets comfortable between his legs. “Seriously, do I have competition?”</p><p>“What do you think?” Law whispers, voice dripping with affection. </p><p>Luffy leans in, taking his boyfriend’s lips in his own. Law wraps his arms around the other man, pulling him close. Their kiss is sloppy, open-mouthed, broken by smiles and giggles. Luffy pulls away only for a moment, just to peel his own shirt off and chuck it somewhere on the floor behind. Whenever they kiss, Luffy never stays in one place for too long. His lips travel south, following the trail of Law’s chin, his prominent collarbones, the tattoos on his chest. He looks up, catching Law’s hooded gray eyes watching him intently. Law bites his lip, as if almost embarrassed at being caught. He tugs on the roots of Luffy’s hair urging him to keep moving. Luffy grins, equal parts devilish and full of boyish charm. </p><p>Law groans as Luffy grazes his navel, alternating the bites with kisses. “I thought you couldn’t work with an empty stomach,” he huffs.</p><p>“I haven’t done any serious work yet.”</p><p>Law pulls on the jet-black locks harder, hissing in a breath when Luffy undoes his belt and buttons. Law lifts his hips up, helping his boyfriend with removing his unbelievably tight jeans. It takes some effort but they do it and go straight back to kissing.</p><p>As he leans back against the cushions, letting Luffy ravish his neck with his perpetually hungry mouth, Law opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. This is reality, yet it feels so dream-like. Finally. Some time alone. No brothers, no friends, no parents. There are no responsibilities, no mountains of books to study, and endless shifts at the hospital. It’s just the two of them, making the best of the few hours they have together. </p><p>The doorbell rings and Law suddenly wonders if twenty minutes have already passed. Luffy’s gone like the wind and Law sits up, sighing. It’s fine, it’s just a tiny break before they can get back to what they were doing. Or hoping to do.</p><p>“Jaggy!”</p><p>Law’s blood freezes. He can feel the color draining from his face, drop by drop. His hands are shaking, cold sweat is running down his back. Maybe he’s hearing things. Maybe it came from outside.</p><p>“Killer said you made an order and I just had to bring it over myself, y’know?”</p><p>Heavy footsteps on the hallway. The unmistakable sound of motor oil. Kid stands at the doorway, smiling even wider when he sees Law sitting on the couch.</p><p>“Hey, bitch.” Law says nothing. He can feel something slowly claw its way up his throat. Is it vomit? A shriek? “Am I interrupting something?” Again, Law doesn’t speak. He figures his appearance, half-naked and with a torso covered in blooming hickeys is enough of an answer.</p><p>“Nah, come on in!”</p><p>He figured wrong. </p><p>Luffy sets the bags of food on the counter and quickly gets to unpacking. Law frantically dresses himself and heads for the kitchen, where his boyfriend and the least likable friend he has are making small talk, as if nothing’s going on.</p><p>“Eustass,” he begins, voice as calm as he can manage, trying not to give anything away. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I brought your food,” Kid replies. His tone is very matter-of-factly, as if Law is an idiot for asking something so obvious. “Duh.”</p><p>“Okay, your job here is done. You can leave.”</p><p>“I thought I’d hang out for a while.”</p><p>Law pauses, completely thrown off balance. He glances at Luffy and the other man simply smiles back. How can he get it through both their incredibly thick skulls that this is not how the night is supposed to go, how if he’s not having sex tonight, he’ll actually start throwing rocks at people?</p><p>“Do you not see how this is a problem?”</p><p>Kid and Luffy turn to him. They’re already eating, scarfing food down their throats like it’s going to sprout legs and run away. Unsurprising but still horrifying, Law notices how Kid is almost done with the spaghetti bolognese <em>he</em> ordered. </p><p>“If it’s about the food, don’t worry,” Luffy reassures him. “We can always order more.” Kid nods.</p><p>Breath in. Breath out. Law opens his eyes. This is fine. He’s had worse. Sure, it’s bad, but nothing will top the time he and Luffy were in the middle of something <em>important</em> during Zoro’s birthday party and Rayleigh walked in on them.</p><p>“Luffy, could you come to the bathroom with me, please? It’ll only be a second.”</p><p>Luffy seems confused, which <em>of course</em>. “He wants to suck your dick, bro,” Kid tells him as he puts the empty container aside. He burps loudly and gets up, heading to the fridge. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll just have a beer while waiting.”</p><p>“It’s not that!” Law snaps. “And why do I even have to explain myself to you?! Luffy, come with me!”</p><p>“Now?” Luffy asks him, whining a little. “Can’t I eat first, at least?”</p><p>“No!” Law grabs the younger man and drags him off into the bathroom, shutting the door after them. His grasp on Luffy’s shoulders is firm, his eyes are spewing flames. “What is he doing here?” he hisses.</p><p>Luffy’s eyes widen. He must have realized that this is not, in fact, some sort of foreplay. And judging by Law’s expression, he doubts there’s going to be any. “He brought the food-”</p><p>“That’s not what I mean! What is he doing here, Luffy? Why is he still here when this day was supposed to be for us?”</p><p>It takes a while, but Luffy finally gets it. “He’ll go away in a bit.”</p><p>“Luffy, this is Eustass. He won’t go away unless we tell him to. Unless <em>you</em> tell him to!”</p><p>“Why would I do that? He just wants to hang out.”</p><p>For a moment, Law wonders if this is all worth it. Sure, Luffy is arguably the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but is this worth it? Does he have to go through whatever this cycle of hell is supposed to be every day he spends with this impossible man? Luffy smiles, bright and warm like the sun, and Law’s heart wavers.</p><p>“It’ll be fine, Law!” he fervently reassures him. “To be honest, Kid’s a surprise for me, too. I had only planned the double date.”</p><p>Law sighs, relieved.</p><p>“Wait what?”</p><p>The doorbell rings, again. Law’s stomach sinks to his feet. Kid, having made himself perfectly comfortable, goes and opens the door. This time, Law can make out two voices, one more excited than the other. </p><p>“Luffy!”</p><p>Law had learned long ago to never use the phrase ‘this can’t get any worse’. It’s as if he’s provoking Fate, daring it to get so, so much worse. Bartolomeo stands in the middle of the living room, holding a life-sized teddy bear with a scar under its eye and a straw hat on its head. Behind him, Cavendish looks like he’s about to attack Luffy like a feral dog.</p><p>“Hey, you guys!” Luffy greets enthusiastically. “Happy Valentine’s Day! What’s with this guy? It’s huge!”</p><p>Bartolomeo blushes. Cavendish rolls his eyes so far back his skull, only the white part is showing. “I-It’s for you. I h-hope you like it.”</p><p>“Damn, I should have gotten you something, too!”</p><p>“No,” Cavendish barks before Law can even open his mouth. “This day is for couples, you’re not the one that has to give him gifts!” He turns to Kid and his scowl deepens. “And you. What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Just hanging out,” Kid shrugs. “We should probably order food, Lu. I kinda ate all the garlic bread.”</p><p>“How the fuck did you manage to do that in five minutes?” Law questions. </p><p>“Well-”</p><p>“It’s a rhetoric question, Eustass.”</p><p>He’s tired, more than he usually is. And for a man that was born exhausted, this sure says a lot. He walks to the couch, collapsing with his face held in his hands. Cavendish sits next to him, mumbling bitterly under his breath. In the center of the living room, the three others are arguing about which movie to watch. It’s a 2-on-1 battle, of course, with Kid trying to convince them that 'Pride and Prejudice' is the obvious choice for the night. Law sighs, feeling all the air in his lungs go out in a single exhale. His father’s voice echoes in his head, reminding him to always seek out the positives in any situation, no matter how dire. Well. At least they’re all adults here, which means Law can cuss them out to his heart’s content.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>There is another person at the door. </p><p>Because God hates Law, it is not, in fact, Shanks who had forgotten his keys, but Robin. She looks beautiful, more than she usually does, wearing a black velvet dress that screams ‘date night’. Chopper stands behind her, smiling up at Luffy.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Hello!” the woman smiles, full, red lips parting to reveal her perfect teeth. “Oh, you got so many people over! Are you having a party?”</p><p>No, but if another person comes over, they are going to be having a funeral.</p><p>“Nah, just a little gathering. You look great!”</p><p>“Thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but could you please watch Chopper tonight? Franky and I have a date and I’d already arranged for Zoro to look after him but he canceled at the last minute.”</p><p>“I can stay home by myself,” the boy argues coyly.</p><p>“Dad and I would feel much better if you were with someone responsible.” Law snorts. Robin’s idea of responsible is… Luffy? Actually, even her first choice is questionable, because, really, who would hire Zoro as a babysitter?</p><p>“Sure, I can do it! We’re gonna watch movies and stuff. It’ll be fun!” Luffy’s eyes widen and Law can feel it coming. He’s only a few seconds away from either an aneurysm or a heart attack. “Hey, you know what! We should totally call Us-”</p><p>“We’re not calling Usopp,” Law barks. As if it means anything at this point. “He’s not gonna come over, he’s having a date with his girlfriend because he’s a normal fucking person!” Chopper gasps softly. Robin frowns a little.</p><p>Luffy’s glaring at him which doesn’t happen often. That pretty much seals Law’s fate as not getting laid any time soon. Of course, Chopper is eagerly accepted by the triad of blockheads, leaving Law and Cavendish to boil over on the couch, wondering if this is all worth it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><br/>“Who’d you get?”</p><p>Aokiji groans as he reaches forward, looking for the little piece of paper that’s sitting on his desk. It’s pink and heart-shaped, rose-scented, really driving the whole ‘Secret Valentine’ thing home.</p><p>“Borsalino. I’ll probably get him some weed or valerian tablets, haven’t decided yet. You?”</p><p>Rosinante sighs softly. “Fucking Vergo.” Aokiji grimaces and Rosinante couldn’t agree more. “I’ll just get him one of Doffy’s socks or something like that.”</p><p>The blond leans back on his chair and takes a casual look around the office. They’re not usually this relaxed, this little celebration being an excuse to slack off only for a few hours. Everyone seems to be in high spirits, sharing heart-shaped snacks and trying to figure out one another’s secret valentines. Rosinante spots Koby, who’s sitting in a corner, eyes wide, jaw slack, face pale as a glass of milk.</p><p>“What’s with you?”</p><p>The younger man lifts his head slowly. He closes his mouth and swallows his dry throat. With shaky fingers, he hands the two senior officers the crumbled, tear, and sweat-stained piece of paper held in his fist.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Aokiji mumbles. “Smoker! Come look at this!”</p><p>Smoker walks over and Aokiji holds the paper up for him to see. His jaw slackens a little, his cigar falls on the floor, burning a hole in Rosinante's sneakers. “Tashigi!” he barks. “Come here for a sec.”</p><p>The young woman saunters over, intrigued by all the commotion. She pulls her glasses down and looks at the paper her superiors are showing her. “Oh, dear,” she sighs. “I’m so sorry, Koby. Hina! You’re not going to believe this!”</p><p>“Stop laughing at my pain!” Koby cries and snatches the piece of paper from Hina’s hands. He stares down at it, still unable to believe the name written on it. It’s a single word, yet it brings him so much pain. No one’s willing to swap, of course, leaving Koby to wallow in his misery.</p><p>“It’s just Sakazuki,” Aokiji shrugs. He says it like it’s the simplest thing.</p><p>“Then let’s swap.”</p><p>The older man snorts. “No way.”</p><p>Koby sighs, sinking into his seat. “What am I even supposed to get him?”</p><p>“A cigar would be a nice idea.”</p><p>“New socks.”</p><p>“Arsenic.”</p><p>“Coffee grounds?”</p><p>“Dog treats.”</p><p>Koby groans. Akainu stands at the other side of the room, away from everything and more importantly, everyone. What is he even supposed to get a guy like this? </p><p>“Get him a gag gift,” Sengoku advises as he suddenly materializes behind Koby. “Get him something stupid and funny. It would do him some good to laugh for once.”</p><p>“He doesn’t have the capacity to do that, sir,” Aokiji says. </p><p>“It might actually have the opposite result,” Smoker adds. </p><p>Sengoku shrugs. “Go on and do it, anyway. If he yells at you, I’ll take the blame.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir!” Koby mumbles with tears in his eyes. “Who did you get?”</p><p>“I got Bellmere.”</p><p>“Oh, fun!” Rosinante grins. “She broke her favorite mug the other day so she could use a new one.”</p><p>Garp approaches, sporting a confused frown as he waves his own piece of paper back and forth. “Who the hell is Issho?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>As Ace steps outside to the cold night air, he thinks that maybe he should have listened to his mother. He shudders, which is only telling of how cold it is. Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for long. A honk breaks the night’s silence and Ace turns to the car, smiling.</p><p>“Hey,” Marco greets as Ace climbs into the car. </p><p>“Hi.” It’s warm and Ace sighs in relief. He throws his duffel bag in the back seat and buckles his seatbelt. Marco begins to drive, pulling out from Amazon Lily parking lot and taking to the highway.</p><p>“Where’d you wanna go?”</p><p>Where, indeed. Ace had been dreaming about this moment for long, longer than he could remember. He was still probably a lanky, finicky little thing that hid behind his mother’s leg. And Marco was a God in his eyes, Whitebeard’s son who got along with everyone, and the few words that he told Ace were always kind. The seed of fascination and desire didn’t take long to be planted in Ace’s teenaged heart. Of course, Marco, being a decent person, never saw him as anything other than Roger and Rouge’s kid who always got into trouble. Maybe until last year’s Christmas party, where Ace, aided by a light buzz and lips sticky with wine, had cornered Marco in the broom closet and kissed him under imaginary mistletoe.</p><p>“There’s a little spot outside of town,” Ace points out and Marco nods. It’s a hill in the suburbs, with a nice view and plenty of privacy. </p><p>“We could get something to drink, first.”</p><p>Ace leans back on his seat and fixes his gaze outside the window, watching the city and its night-life melt into golden nothingness. He smiles a little, private and all to himself. He’s never shared space with Marco like this before, has never been in the same bubble as him. He turns to the side, studying the older man’s profile as he drives. Marco catches him with the corner of his eye and smiles.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I missed you,” Ace murmurs.</p><p>Marco doesn’t take his eyes off the road but his free hand seeks out Ace’s. He squeezes it and Ace’s heart flutters.</p><p>“I missed you, too.”</p><p>The ride to the hill is silent but comfortable. They only make one stop, very brief. Marco jumps in a bodega and comes out mere minutes later, carrying two bottles of wine wrapped in paper bags. It’s horrible and tastes like cranberry syrup more than anything but Ace drinks it happily, not knowing if it’s that or Marco making him feel so warm inside. </p><p>“You can see the whole city from here,” Marco remarks.</p><p>The hill provides a spectacular view of the entirety of Sabaody, the way no other spot can. The city spreads below, with its million eyes, glowing orange in the velvet night. The light bounces off in the vast darkness of the sea, illuminating the bay. Ace can see his mother’s house, the last one before the high-class suburbs begin. He sees the Donquixote mansion, gilded in gold and bustling with people, as always. In the distance, the far end of the city, away from everything and everyone, he spots the Fortress of Solitude, as Shanks so lovingly calls it. It’s hard to make out, the way it’s nestled deep in the heart of the forest, making it visible only to those who had been there.</p><p>“It’s a nice night out. Quiet.”</p><p>Usually, this spot is packed with couples on Valentine’s Day. They must have come and gone, because, at nearly 4 AM, Marco and Ace are the only people there.</p><p>“When did you come back?”</p><p>“Yesterday.”</p><p>“How’s Sphinx?”</p><p>Marco gulps down his wine before responding. “Same as always.” He takes another swig. It’s obvious that his job is the last thing he wants to talk about at the particular moment. “What’s a strip club like on Valentine’s Day?”</p><p>“Busy,” is the very vague answer Ace gives. Because, really, no word combination is strong enough to describe a maniacal sea of hands and wails reaching for the performers, of people crying on the bar or passed out on the floor, drinking their sorrows away. “But it was good. I don’t think I’ve ever made more tips.” Ace pauses to drink. “What’s a hospital like on Valentine’s Day?”</p><p>“Oh, God,” Marco groans and Ace bursts out laughing. “Lots of sex-related accidents, naturally. We got raptured windpipes, eye infections… That’s pretty tame, you know. I’ve been working here for the last twenty years, we see it every Valentine’s Day. But, today we had some dude who shoved an entire baguette up his ass.”</p><p>“...what?”</p><p>Marco nods. “Wanna know the best part?”</p><p>“Hit me.”</p><p>“He was a Charlotte.”</p><p>Ace shoots wine out of his nose, exploding all over the dashboard. Marco joins him, reaching up to wipe the wine that leaks from his mouth. “Shut up!”</p><p>“I’m serious! Didn’t know who he was, though. There’s too many of them, can’t keep track of the names.”</p><p>“Who’s your favorite?” The two men look at each other, pausing for a moment to think before responding in perfect sync. “Katakuri.”</p><p><em>It’s nice</em>, Ace tells himself again and again. The wine sloshes in the bottle as he shakes it before sipping and Marco sits right next to him. The air is heavy with the desire to say a million things. But they are all left unsaid, instead hovering in the air like particles of dust. </p><p>“Heard Roger’s back.”</p><p>Duh. The first thing Roger did upon coming back was drive to Whitebeard’s house just to announce his presence. </p><p>Ace shrugs and brings the bottle to his lips. “Last week.”</p><p>Marco nods. “And how are you?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I think you know what I mean.”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about Roger, Marco.”</p><p>“I’m not talking about Roger. I’m talking about you, your feelings. That’s all that matters to me.”</p><p>Ace’s smile is bitter. Why does Marco always know what to say? How can he always say the thing Ace needs to hear? Opening up to him is effortlessly easy, bordering on hypnotism. Marco’s point of view is completely sober, unbiased by Roger being ‘the coolest uncle in the world’ or ‘a saint compared to my father, you ungrateful piece of shit’. His gaze is kind as he looks at the younger man and his words are sweet as he reaches for Ace’s hair, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. His hand lingers, warm against Ace’s freckled cheek.</p><p>Ace lets his head fall back and groans. Where does he even begin? “I told him I hate him.”</p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>Ace sighs. “I want to hate him. That way it’ll be easier to ignore him.” He seeks out the wine before realizing it’s all gone. “Everyone tells me he’s the greatest guy. He’s obviously a good dad, Shanks and Buggy think he’s a god or something. I feel like I’m delusional for hating him. Like I’m making up this monster that’s not even there.”</p><p>“You’re not,” Marco reassures him firmly. “People have sides, Ace. Everyone in Roger’s life sees a different side of him and you’re seeing this one.” </p><p>“Why?” he breathes out. He can feel his eyes swell with tears. His blunt nails scrape against the bottle’s label, tearing it off. “I know it’s a stupid question to ask and completely pointless but…” He inhales, breath shaky. “Why me? Why am I the only one seeing this? Why can’t I see what Mom sees, or Rayleigh or your old man? Why am I stuck hating a man who tries his hardest to make me love him?”</p><p>“Ace, look at me.” Marco’s voice is firm, though not lacking in tenderness. “Don’t think even for a second that any of this is your fault. You are entitled to your emotions, you have a reason to feel this way towards Roger. Him trying to get on your good side is definitely something you should at least acknowledge, however it doesn’t automatically mean you can accept him. Love is a right to be earned, not a commodity taken for granted.”</p><p>Ace breathes in slowly, shallowly. He’s sure he’s heard this before, perhaps with different wording, but it feels new coming from Marco. Like striking a vein of gold.</p><p>“Are you saying this to make me feel better?”</p><p>“I’m saying this because I’m in love with you.”</p><p>There’s silence in the car, in which they both share a shaky little breath. Marco’s eyes widen at the realization of his words. His face flushes red. Relieved, Ace realizes it’s embarrassment, not regret.</p><p>“A-And I want you to feel good, and to know that y-you are loved and appreciated-”</p><p>Ace never lets him finish. He grabs Marco by the collar of his shirt and brings him close, holding him like a vice while kissing him. It takes a second for Marco’s body to click into action, for him to believe his luck. Slowly, he brings his arms around Ace’s neck, pulling him in. It’s a very eager kiss, full of childish sloppiness. It tastes like cheap wine and it’s sticky, all messy lips and tangled tongues. Ace pulls back, forehead pressed against Marco’s as he looks into his sharp blue eyes.</p><p>“I’m in love with you, too.”</p><p>Marco grins. His hands travel lower, wrapping around the younger man’s waist. Ace shifts out of his seat, moving to straddle Marco. The position is awkward and the space is small but they make it, giggling like misbehaving teenagers while they kiss and grind against each other. Ace buries his hand in Marco’s tuft of blonde hair and pulls him back, making him arch his neck. Marco sighs, going limp as Ace’s lips find the bare flesh of his throat, kissing and biting every bit they can find. </p><p>“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long,” Ace moans into Marco’s ear, voice heavy with desire, breath hot. Marco says nothing but the way he bucks his hips into him is the only answer Ace needs. Ace grinds back down and Marco hisses, mumbling a curse under his breath.</p><p>“Let’s go back to my place.”</p><p>Ace nods and gets back into his seat. He smiles cheekily at the sight of the other man, or rather, what he’s done to him. Marco is blushing up to the tips of his ears, panting shallowly, lips glistening with spit.</p><p>Marco lives in an apartment in the outskirts of the city, close to both the hospital and his Dad’s place. The ride there is silent but the air is buzzing with excitement. None of them speaks, afraid they’ll kiss the words right off the other’s mouth. Marco knows he’s driving more recklessly than usual. He cuts a twenty-minute ride into merely ten, stopping in the first parking spot he finds.</p><p>“Finally,” he sighs. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Ace, only to find out he’s fast asleep. “Ace?” He pokes the younger man on his shoulder and Ace falls forward, slamming his forehead against the dashboard. Marco waits with his breath held. Ace snores and continues sleeping.</p><p>Marco watches him, once again bewildered by his ability to sleep through just about anything. He looks around, not sure what to do. He sighs, resigned but not at all disappointed. When it comes to Ace, everything is welcome.</p><p>He steps out of the car and retrieves Ace’s stuff from the backseat. Very carefully, he removes Ace from the passenger’s seat, balancing him in his arms as best as he can. As expected, Ace doesn’t even stir. He slumps against Marco’s shoulder, dropping his entire weight on him and snoring as Marco drags him to the front door. Juggling Ace and his things while digging around his pocket for his keys is a hassle but Marco manages. </p><p>By the time they reach his 7th-floor apartment, Marco is panting. Ace is still sleeping blissfully, entirely unbothered. </p><p>“You damn tease,” Marco grumbles lovingly. </p><p>He unlocks the door, letting both of them in. He doubts Ace is going to wake up anytime soon, leaving him with only one option. It takes some more effort but he gets Ace into his room and throws him on his bed. Definitely not how he imagined this but in a way, it’s even better. It’s domestic and familiar, the absolute show of trust. The moment he detects pillows and blankets around him, Ace snores louder. He hums in his sleep, burying his face in Marco’s pillow. Marco helps Ace out of his boots and jeans, letting him keep his hoodie and boxers. It’s fine, he thinks, Ace is practically a radiator on legs and the apartment is pleasantly warm.</p><p>Behind the curtains, the sun is slowly beginning to rise on the horizon. Marco only realizes his exhaustion when he glances at the clock. 5 AM. Ace’s soft breathing accompanies him as he changes into his pajamas and gets under the covers next to him. He sighs, brushing a lock of hair away from Ace’s lips. He leans in, leaving a kiss on his forehead. Ace hums and scoots closer, nestling against Marco’s chest. </p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><br/>“Grab a seat. It’s about to start.”</p><p>Bellmere sits next to Rosinante, offering to light his cigarette for him. Rosinante takes a drag and offers the lighter to Smoker, who then passes it to Hina.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Oh, shit,” Rosinante hisses. He takes a drag from his cigarette and some of the ash falls on his jeans, burning a hole. </p><p>“I feel so sorry for the poor kid,” Bellmere mumbles. </p><p>They all watch as Koby sheepishly approaches Akainu, much like a lamb headed for slaughter. At first, the other man doesn’t notice him, frustrated as he is with the coffee machine. </p><p>“S-Sir?”</p><p>“What!”</p><p>Koby freezes. His hands are shaking like leaves. He’s sweating bullets, unable to move, think or blink. Slowly, he lifts his hands, offering Akainu the bag he holds.</p><p>“H-Happy Valentine’s Day, s-sir!”</p><p>Nobody in the office is stirring. Everyone is breathless, eyes fixated on the scene currently taking place. </p><p>“We have to help him,” Rosinante hisses, voice laced with panic. He moves to stand but Aokiji places a hand on his shoulder, slamming him back down.</p><p>They all watch with wide eyes as Akainu, sporting an expression that borders on complete disgust, opens up the bags and pulls out a <em>Clifford the Big Red Dog</em> plushie. Utter silence. Koby is sweating a river. Akainu's narrowed eyes pierce through the young man's soul.</p><p>“Is this supposed to be a joke, officer?”</p><p>“Give it a rest, Sakazuki,” Sengoku intervenes, casually strolling by with a bag of Doritos. “It’s a gag gift.”</p><p>“Pretty spot on, too!” Garp guffaws. He drops his large hand on Koby’s shoulder and the young man buckles under the crippling weight. He snatches the stuffed toy off of Akainu’s grasp and laughs again. “It looks just like you.”</p><p>As the senior officers begin arguing amongst themselves, Koby takes the opportunity to slip away. He collapses on the first empty chair he finds, feeling himself dance close to the edge of unconsciousness. He’s sitting with his face held in his hands, wondering how he made it out of there alive when he feels something tap him on the head. He looks up, finding Drake standing above him, holding out a neatly-wrapped package. </p><p>“Happy Valentine’s Day.”</p><p>Koby blinks, slowly sitting up straight. “Are you my secret valentine?” Drake shrugs. Koby takes the package and begins unwrapping it. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, Drake. Thank you for being so...thoughtful?” He pauses, looking down at his gift. Diary of the Horny Huntsman 2: Morning Wood. “Drake?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“This is porn.”</p><p>“You sound ungrateful, valentine.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>The bar is dark and empty, devoid of people, sound, warmth. The room steadily becomes colder, the reality of its emptiness becomes more feasible with each passing second. Only a man sits on the bar, fingers loosely wrapped around a bottle of absinthe, face pressed against the slightly greasy wooden surface. He’s not passed out, it takes a special kind of alcohol binge to knock someone like him down. He’s dizzy, that much is true, though he’s perfectly aware of his surroundings, of the cars that come and go somewhere in the distance and the two men that stand in the doorway, having a hushed conversation.</p><p>“I’ll take it from here.”</p><p>The door opens and one of the two men steps inside. Shanks doesn’t need to look up to see know it is. He could recognize these footsteps everywhere, the overconfident stride that borders on arrogance, the woody cologne, the rustling of expensive fabric. He knows he’s about to hear an earful but he clings to the telltale signs of the other man’s presence, seeks out the memories engraved in the deepest part of his psyche. They had bought those boots together, the cologne had been a gift for Christmas, some odd 20 years ago, the suit has a pink little bat embroidered in the lining, one of Perona’s earliest attempts at fashion.</p><p>“Have you ever considered rehab?”</p><p>Shanks laughs. It’s loud and dry. Pulling himself up takes some serious effort but he does it, slumping against the bar’s surface and looks up at Mihawk. Unsurprisingly, he’s scowling. </p><p>“Have you considered that this is exactly what I want you to do?”</p><p>“I’ve fallen for your grand scheme, then?”</p><p>Shanks shrugs. He raises his empty glass to the other man, smiling a little. “You’re here.”</p><p>Mihawk sighs. It’s heavy and weary and in moments like these, Shanks wishes he could hate him. He wants to hate that scowl and those brilliant golden eyes that are full of exhaustion and exasperation. Disdain, as if the past 28 years have been nothing but pure agony, a hassle. As if Shanks is nothing but a nuisance, another toddler dumped at his doorstep, with no clear instructions on how to care for it.</p><p>“Why are you here?”</p><p>“Rayleigh called me,” he responds casually. “Said you got black-out drunk again and refused to leave.” Pretty accurate, though the night’s events are unclear. Shanks tries thinking about it but quickly stops as a dull, persistent throb blooms from the back of his head. </p><p>“Are you my lift home?”</p><p>Mihawk says nothing. He stands behind the bar, browsing the wine collection. Shakky keeps the good stuff in a barrel that’s hidden from the clients. He finds a bottle he deems worthy and fills Shanks’ glass. The redhead reaches for it but Mihawk’s fingers are quicker, grasping the glass and bringing it to his lips. </p><p>“If you wanna kiss me, you can just ask,” Shanks drawls.</p><p>“Get over yourself, Red.”</p><p>Shanks watches him as he finishes his drink. The aura around Mihawk is blurry and in Shanks’ drunk eyes, he looks holy, as if pulled from a dimension of divinity. If he reaches out, he can just grab him, know if he's actually there. His heart flutters a little at the mere thought of having Mihawk under his fingertips once again.</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p>It’s only when he makes an effort to stand, that Shanks realizes how drunk he is. Every time, his state is news to him. He only makes one wobbly step before Mihawk catches him, looping his arms around his shoulders and holding him by the waist. His weight is heavy as lead but Mihawk makes it, dragging him to the door and out of the quiet bar. As Rayleigh had instructed, he locks the door and puts the spare key in a hollow decorative rock, piled next to several others.</p><p>Shanks takes in the night air with greed, letting it fill his lungs and burn his throat. The cold wind blows on his face and he wakes up, only a little. Mihawk spins him around and to his relief, Shanks sees Mihawk’s car waiting for them.</p><p>“Oh, thank God,” he sighs. The worst thing that could have happened to him at that moment would be to ride on Mihawk’s motorcycle. He hates that thing, never saw the appeal of being out in the open like this. Mihawk likes it, Shanks will never forget the look on his usually emotionless face when it was presented as a gift for his 27th birthday. Their 27th birthday.</p><p>Mihawk puts him in the passenger seat, buckles him in and sits behind the wheel. Shanks lets his head fall back against the headrest, trying to sleep the nausea away. Mihawk begins to drive, rolling downhill, to where Shanks’ house is.</p><p>“I can’t go back home,” Shanks mumbles. Forming even the smallest sentence proves to be a feat. His gut stirs, alive with the uncomfortable feeling of impending vomit. Mihawk cracks open the windows, hoping the fresh air will make Shanks feel better.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I promised Luffy and his boyfriend the house, don’t wanna walk in on any funny business.” </p><p>Mihawk grumbles. “Rouge’s, then.”</p><p>Shanks groans. The nerve of this guy… Honestly, it takes a special brand of masochism to find this charming, erotic, even. “Just take me home with you, shithead.” He brings a hand to his throbbing forehead, trying to press the headache back down. “I promise I’ll behave.”</p><p>“You don’t have a choice.” Shanks assumes he’s one wrong word away from waking up in the middle of the forest, unless the wolves get to him first. </p><p>It’s always like this. They squabble, bicker, nag, and tease one another, and it all leads to the same spot. Nowhere. There’s a flame, the idea, the faint taste of something that was once stronger, and it’s just out of grasp. Shanks could just reach out and grab it, test its reality underneath his skin, but he’s too drunk and Mihawk is going too fast. He groans and leans against the window, hoping the nausea will disappear soon.</p><p>When he opens his eyes again, the car has stopped. Mihawk’s house stands before them, darker than the darkness that surrounds it. Mihawk gets out first and walks around the car to help Shanks. The redhead tries to be as helpful as he can but his limbs refuse to cooperate with the commands of his foggy brain. The night around them is quiet, broken only by the nocturnal animals that linger in the forest.</p><p>The inside is no different. Shanks blinks sheepishly, making out the vague shapes of furniture, the velvet chair they had stolen from someone’s house and the antique vase they had discovered at a yard sale. Nothing and everything has changed.</p><p>“Wait here.”</p><p>Like he can do anywhere. Mihawk suddenly drops him on a chair and Shanks almost falls over, confused. As Mihawk goes to the foyer closet, he makes out the faint but distinct sound of snoring coming from the lounge. Mihawk walks past him with a blanket and a pillow in his hands. He’s back within seconds, huffing as they walk up the stairs. </p><p>“You’re such a good Dad,” he drawls. “I miss raising kids with you.”</p><p>Shanks isn’t surprised to see that they’re walking right past Mihawk’s room. He laughs to himself, for lack of a better reaction.</p><p>“Are you sure you want to leave me alone, Mihawk? What if I sneak out?”</p><p>“I’ll lock you in.”</p><p>They end up in one of the guest rooms. It’s odd that Mihawk, of all people, would have rooms meant to accommodate guests but then again, Zoro has many friends and Mihawk is a good parent. Shanks falls - is dropped, really - on his back, bouncing roughly on the bed. He groans, feeling his distressed insides turn. He feels his legs being pulled as Mihawk removes his shoes, tossing them on the floor behind. The sensations are all distant, it’s been a while since he’s been at the other man’s mercy.</p><p>“Why do you do this to yourself, Shanks?”</p><p>What an absolutely terrible thing to ask a drunk person. It’s rhetoric, Shanks decides, and chooses to grunt in response. It’s not that Mihawk needs an answer, anyway. He decided long ago what Shanks is and why he does the things he does.</p><p>Slowly, he drags himself up to the pillow, getting under the covers. Everything is crisp, unused, and the fresh linens smell like Mihawk’s favorite detergent. This is new and old at the same time. The last time he had been at this house, he still called it home. His lips move, trying to make a sound. He hears footsteps going away and the need to say something becomes urgent.</p><p>“Mihawk,” he croaks, throat dry. </p><p>The other man stops. Shanks watches him through heavy lids, a slim, dark figure standing next to the window. He sighs again, heavily.</p><p>“Good night, Shanks.”</p><p>The door opens and closes. The key doesn’t turn in the lock. Shanks buries his face in the pillow, relieved to have something soft under his throbbing skull.</p><p>“Goddammit…”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sad shanks hours lmao</p><p>akataka birthday coming and I got big plans y'all</p><p>I hope you liked reading this one and if you'd like, come and say hi on twitter @_mollydewinter_ :D I only thirstpost about rayleigh like all day</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In Sickness and In Health</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With his mother staying at home because of a cold, Ace takes it upon himself to manage her business. Meanwhile, Mihawk's nurse takes one too many liberties.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! So this one took a bit longer to write because I was rushing to post Shanks/Mihawk content for their birthday hehe It's a sick-fic chapter because I'm a sucker for this trope in specific. It's cheesy as hell but I love it to bits</p><p>So basically, Rouge has a cold and Ace and Roger have to manage her business. On the other side of town, Mihawk falls ill and of course, who better to nurse him back to health than his former partner?</p><p>Like I said in chapter 1, this story has no concrete plot but there's still some backstory that will unfold the further we go. I'll be including some 'flashback' chapters too, with the Strawhats and friends as kids but also of the older generation as rowdy, borderline alcoholic teens.</p><p>TO MY FRIEND JESS WHO BETA'D THIS FOR ME 10 am is the perfect time for cafés to open im sorry to hear America is fucked up and evil</p><p>ALSO! Next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to the most and I was actually planning on making it Chapter 1 but I decided to wait it out a bit. I wanted to give my favorite dumpster-fire of a character a proper entrance ;)</p><p>Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and the support! If you want, come say hi over at Twitter @_mollydewinter_ :D I hope you all enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">In Sickness and In Health</span>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s nearly 3 AM when Perona hears it. At first, she doesn’t move. Must have been the rain, she rationalizes and goes back to scrolling through Pinterest. Then, she hears it again and this time it’s more persistent. The young woman shifts, slowly climbing out of her mountain of duvets and pillows. She switches on her pink bat-shaped night-light to help navigate her dark room. She approaches the window and peers outside. It’s difficult to make anything out. Per her own request, her room is the nearest to the forest, and at this hour and with these weather conditions, seeing anything is impossible. She opens the window just a crack. The sounds of the downpour and the cold night air fill her room in an instant. But still, she hears it.</p><p>The unmistakable sound of a little cat crying.</p><p>“Pspspsps!” she calls out desperately, leaning out of her window, frantically looking around.</p><p>The crying stops only for a moment before returning, stronger. “Oh,” Perona gasps. She can feel tears swell in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks.</p><p>Within an instant, she’s out of her room, sprinting down the dark halls of the mansion. Her room is located in the south wing and she has to traverse the entire house to reach Mihawk’s. Her father, already a pretty difficult person, to begin with, is especially particular when it comes to sleeping. He was more lenient when she and Zoro were kids, even rushing to their side whenever a nighttime emergency presented itself, but now that they’re both past 20 years old, he is less than happy to be woken up at night. Well. This is an emergency and he’s the only one that can help.</p><p>Perona pushes open the heavy double doors and lets herself in. Thunder flashes out the windows, briefly illuminating the room. The crimson rug, the black velvet curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows, the impressive four-poster bed, dressed in fine satin. She approaches hurriedly, climbing on the bed to where Mihawk is sleeping soundly, buried underneath his comforter. Though he sleeps alone, he still only takes the right side of the bed.</p><p>“Dad,” she whispers. Mihawk breathes slowly as he sleeps, completely unbothered. Perona frowns. How is it that she is woken by the sound of a feather falling on the floor but both her father and brother completely blackout when they sleep?</p><p>“Daaad,” she whines, now shaking Mihawk. He groans a little but otherwise remains completely unresponsive. “Dad!” she snaps. “Wake up!”</p><p>A golden eye cracks open, stabbing her from underneath thick, dark lashes. “What do you want?” the man grumbles. </p><p>“Dad, there’s a huge problem!”</p><p>That’s all it takes for Mihawk to fully wake up. He sits up, letting the duvet fall down his bare chest. He shivers a little, trying to adjust to the temperature. He looks at his daughter with concern, brows furrowed as he tries to figure out what the problem is.</p><p>“What’s going on?” He sniffs the air, probably trying to see if there’s a fire. Again. Perhaps one of the rooms flooded. This is a very old house, after all, and even though he repaired it thoroughly when he bought it, some problems still resurface, especially with this weather.</p><p>“There’s a cat crying for help outside!”</p><p>Mihawk pauses. He blinks slowly, trying to understand if he heard this right. “...a cat?”</p><p>“It sounds like a little kitten!” Perona laments, violently shaking her father’s shoulders. “It must be trapped somewhere.”</p><p>Mihawk opens his mouth but closes it again, unable to find the words for this. “Gimme a break,” he groans and dives back into his pillow, hoping sleep will reclaim him.</p><p>“Don’t fall back asleep!” Perona shrieks. Mihawk’s eyes shoot open, glaring daggers at his canopy. She’s loud, good God she’s loud. She’s always been noisy, even as an infant, shrieking and crying her little head off until either of her Dads rushed to her side. </p><p>“Ask your brother,” he grumbles. He rolls to his side, throwing the duvet over his head. </p><p>“He’ll just get lost!” Perona’s voice is reaching dog-only frequencies, drilling into Mihawk’s brain through his ears. She’s shaking him again and he can feel last night’s dinner stir in his stomach. “Daaaad!”</p><p>“Okay!” he barks. “Stop screaming!” He sits back up and sighs. Perona clasps her hands together, smiling through her tears. She hops off the bed hurriedly, relaying the rescue plan to Mihawk while he reaches for a sweater to throw over his wine-colored satin pants. Begrudgingly, he follows his daughter out of his bedroom and into the main hall. The rain outside hasn’t let up, on the contrary, it grows stronger by the minute. Mihawk pauses, looking out to the greenhouse. It’s quite sturdy, Rayleigh took it upon himself to build it up to Mihawk’s standards, and so the plants are safe. Thankfully.</p><p>“Hurry up!”</p><p>As Perona informed him, she heard the meowing outside her window, which means that the animal is somewhere past the south wing. Great. What better way to spend the night than walking through your entire estate in the middle of a storm? He puts his boots on and briefly considers downsizing.</p><p>“By the way,” he says as he’s about to exit the house, “you’re not keeping the animal here. You’ll drop it off at a shelter first thing in the morning.”</p><p>Perona opens her mouth to protest but Mihawk is already gone, marching down to the forest. She positions herself next to the nearest window, watching as her father’s figure is swallowed by the veil of pouring water. Behind her, she hears heavy footsteps coming down the stairs along with a yawn and the disgusting sound of joints popping.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Zoro inquires as he plops on the couch next to her. “Why are you so damn loud?”</p><p>“There’s a cat trapped somewhere in the forest and I sent Dad to go find it.”</p><p>“Why would you do this to him?”</p><p>“Somebody had to go!”</p><p>“Then why didn’t you go get it yourself?”</p><p>Perona turns to face her little brother, lips pulled down in a deep scowl. “Why don’t you go back to sleep before you grace us with more bullshit?”</p><p>“I would have been asleep if you weren’t screaming like that!”</p><p>She huffs, annoyed, turning her gaze back to the window. Mihawk has disappeared completely. “I don’t expect a blockhead like you to sympathize.”</p><p>Zoro rolls his eyes. Arguing with his sister is pointless. He yawns and stretches his legs to the coffee table, leaning back to get more comfortable. He’s almost asleep, not even five minutes later, lulled by the sound of the rainfall.</p><p>The mansion’s tall doors are thrown open abruptly, slamming on the wall behind. The siblings both jump. Their eyes find the entrance, where a lone figure stands, panting. It’s Mihawk, covered in mud up to his knees and wet to the bone. His hair is plastered on his forehead and his clothes are practically glued to his skin. In his arms, he holds a tiny little thing, black and with large, orange eyes.</p><p>Perona jumps from the couch and rushes over, squealing with glee. “It’s so little!” she squeaks, snatching the tiny animal from her father’s grasp. “Thank you!”</p><p>Mihawk remains unresponsive. He’s shaking a little. Under his mud-covered boots, his feet are soaked. He catches himself in the mirror, disappointed but not surprised to see that his favorite pair of pajama pants is completely ruined.</p><p>“Zoro,” he calls out, attracting his son’s attention. “Is there any hot water left from last night?”</p><p>“Um… there’s no power, actually.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Yeah. I went to get water from the fridge and nothing’s working.”</p><p>Mihawk tries the nearest switch, only to see that Zoro was indeed right. There’s always the generator, but someone still needs to go and turn it on. He considers sending Zoro out to fix it, though there’s still the problem of him finding it. He could go back out and do it himself and he would have, if he wasn’t frozen on the spot. The clothes on his back are stuck on him like a second skin. He’s freezing and soon, the first sneeze comes. The only option is to go back to his room and he does it, dragging his feet slowly all the way to the second floor. Once inside, he strips completely and pats himself dry with a towel. His muscles feel stiff, protesting his every move. He’s back in bed, dressed in the warmest pajamas he owns, hoping that the itch in his throat is nothing to worry about.</p><p> </p><p>..</p><p> </p><p><br/>
“<em>Good morning</em>.”</p><p>The voice on the other end of the line is warm and fuzzy, little bit lazy. Ace smiles slowly, scooting closer to his phone.</p><p>“Good morning,” he murmurs sleepily. He can hear Marco smile against the receiver, groaning softly as he rolls over. “Slept well?”</p><p>“<em>Mhm. You?</em>”</p><p>“Eh, can’t complain. Nothing compares to sleeping next to you.”</p><p>Marco chuckles. “<em>We can arrange that,</em>” he purrs. “<em>Got any coming day-offs?</em>”</p><p>“How’s Friday? I don’t think Hancock will mind, I haven’t taken a single break since I started.”</p><p>“<em>Aren’t you a trooper…</em>”</p><p>Ace grins. “What do you say? I’ll come over and we’ll cook dinner, then we’ll see where the night takes us.” In bed, Ace prays, tangled and sweaty, fucking each other stupid. Judging by the little hum Marco lets out, he’s in with the plan.</p><p>“<em>Sounds lovely</em>,” he says. “<em>We’ll talk again until then.</em>” Of course, they will. Ever since their little Valentine’s Day date, they’ve been talking day and night, almost non-stop. His brothers are teasing him relentlessly, though it’s their way of showing how happy they are for him. </p><p>“What’s the plan for today?” Marco asks.</p><p>“Well, I don’t work so I’ll go help Mom at the cafe. I finally convinced her to hire an extra person and she’s coming in, gotta show her the works and stuff. How about you?”</p><p>“<em>I have to go to Dad’s place, the fence needs some repairs. Then, I work in the afternoon…</em>” He sighs. “<em>I hope you have a great day, Fire Fist.</em>”</p><p>Ace grins. His stomach does a little jump, his cheeks heat up. “You too. We’ll talk later.”</p><p><br/>
“<em>We will.</em>”</p><p>Ace drops his phone on the pillow next to him. Five minutes more. He yawns and rolls around his covers before deciding it’s finally time to get up. He throws on some sweats and exits the room. The cat is there, pawing at his door, and Ace leans down to give him good morning scritches. Oddly, his meowing is the only sound heard in the house. Ace walks down the stairs, expecting to find his mother in the kitchen, drinking her morning coffee. Instead, he’s met with silence and solitude. He looks outside. Rouge’s car is there. </p><p>His ears catch something, a very faint sound coming from his parents’ bedroom. He knocks and when he doesn’t receive an answer, he steps in. The room is empty, the bed is made and the windows are opened just a crack, letting the fresh air in. Ace furrows his brows, looking around curiously.</p><p>“Mom?”</p><p>There’s a choked sound coming from the bathroom, one that sounds an awful lot like someone vomiting. Panicking, Ace storms into his parents’ bathroom, to find his mother on the floor in front of the toilet, spilling out the contents of her stomach.</p><p>“Mom!” he gasps, rushing to her side. He holds her up by the shoulders, pushing her blonde mane out of her face. Rouge gives him a weak smile, pale lips trembling. Her skin has the color of wax, her eyes are heavy with dark circles. Ace doesn’t need to see more to become worried, extremely so. He knows his mother had a notoriously difficult pregnancy and in a way, Ace thinks it his duty to care for her delicate health.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she reassures him, voice barely above a whisper.</p><p>He frowns. “I can see that.” His first thoughts are of Marco. He’s a doctor, and a good one. It would be kind of barbaric to call him out so early in the morning, but Ace has no doubts the man will answer his call. Then again, calling Marco <em>of all people</em> will only complicate things. </p><p>“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he urges, gently pulling her to a stand.</p><p>“Honey, I’m ok,” Rouge says. She tries her best to calm him down which only agitates him more. “It’s just a little cold. Nothing I haven’t had before.”</p><p>The front door is thrown open and Roger’s rapidly approaching footsteps rattle the windows. He barges in, panting and sweating bullets.</p><p>“I got everything!” he loudly proclaims and empties the bag he’s carrying on the bed. Pill bottles, vitamins, tissue boxes, cough syrup. You name it, Roger has it. Before Rouge can protest, he has her in his arms, gently depositing her under the covers, making sure she’s warm. “Crocus is on the way and he told me to make sure you’re adequately hydrated at all times.”</p><p>“Roger,” Rouge whines softly. “There’s no need to call the poor man over from the other side of town for only a cold!”</p><p>“It’s not ‘just a cold!’,”’ Roger argues back. “You obviously have a very high fever.”</p><p>“I have no time for this,” she mumbles stubbornly as she pushes the duvet off. “I need to get to work.”</p><p>“You’re not going anywhere,” Ace intervenes. </p><p>Rouge pauses. She looks at her husband, then her gaze flickers to her son. Finally, they agree on something. She sighs, defeated by her boys, and tucks herself back into bed. “You’re right,” she admits. “Maybe I need to take the day off. Besides, coughing in the customers’ faces doesn’t sound like good business practice.” The cat enters the room and trots all the way to her. He jumps on the bed and snuggles in her arms, purring with satisfaction at the fingers that comb through his thick, orange fur.</p><p>Ace nods. “I’ll get going. The new girl will arrive soon and I need to walk her through.”</p><p>“You’re not going to the cafe,” his mother says firmly. “It can stay closed for a day.”</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Ace, you are not working on your day off! You’ll be short-staffed, anyway.”</p><p>“I’ll come with you.”</p><p>At first, Ace isn’t sure if he heard right. He looks up to his father and the other man gives him a shrug and a casual smile. </p><p>“...what?”</p><p>“I’ll come with you to work.”</p><p>Ace blinks stupidly. His brain is flat-out refusing to accept the words. “That’s… that’s the worst thing that could happen to me- Ow!” He groans, rubbing over the spot his mother pinched. “I’m not taking him to work! I don’t have time to train two people.”</p><p>“You don’t have to. I already know how to handle most of the stuff from Shakky’s. It’s more or less the same, right?”</p><p>No, it’s not. But Ace doesn’t have the energy to tell that to Roger. Those talks with Marco have helped him a lot. Sure, his feelings remain the same, he just doesn’t feel like lashing out as often anymore. He looks at Rouge, pale as the pillow underneath her, blonde hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. A truce, so be it. He’ll do it if it’s for her. </p><p>He groans. “Go wait for me in the car.”</p><p>Roger grins and the little vein in Ace’s forehead pops. As he moves to stand, his mother holds him down, her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She reaches up, tipping his head back as he brushes her hand over a spot on his neck. </p><p>“And this?”</p><p>Ace smiles. It’s cheeky and apologetic at the same time, equal parts toddler caught sneaking cookies out of the jar again and promiscuous son doing something he’s not supposed to. </p><p>“Mosquito bite?”</p><p>Rouge quirks a brow at him. The fever is making her big, chestnut-colored eyes gleam even brighter, more intelligent. </p><p>“It looks really bad,” she says. “Maybe you should go to the doctor. Unless you already have.”</p><p>Ace chuckles. He breaks free from her hold and leans forward, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”</p><p>Rouge hums. The cat rolls over, presenting his belly for pets. “You can just tell me. It will be so much worse if I find out myself.”</p><p>“Get some rest until the doctor comes,” Ace advises her, pointedly ignoring her questioning. Under different circumstances, Rouge would have pressed on. Instead, she drops the subject, choosing to listen to her son.</p><p> </p><p>..</p><p> </p><p><br/>
The first thing Mihawk notices as he wakes up is the soreness in his throat. It’s exceedingly uncomfortable, to the point of him wanting to shove a hand down his larynx and just yank it out. The feeling is akin to him trying to swallow a pinecone, even opening his mouth is excruciating. He groans and rolls to his side and, oh God, what a horrible decision that is. His whole body aches, sore and stiff in a way it’s never been in years. Opening his eyes is another feat but at least his room is dark. He blinks slowly, getting used to his surroundings. He reaches for his phone and hisses when the screen’s light hits his eyes and throbbing head.</p><p>It’s noon. Somehow, he managed to sleep till noon.</p><p>“Shit,” he mumbles softly. </p><p>It’s not that he has anything to do, he just hoped to wake up early and survey the damage the storm had caused to the estate. Other than that, he more or less does the same things every day; get groceries once a week, clean around, spend some time in the garden, train with Zoro, cook for the kids, clean up, and unwind with a glass of wine and a book. Oh, and once every ten days, he also drops by his office just for participation points. After five minutes of being awake and hating it, he realizes that none of this is going to happen. Slowly, Mihawk brings a hand up to his forehead, feeling the fever burn underneath his fingertips.</p><p>Fantastic.</p><p>Blaming it on Perona is the easy solution, but he really brought this upon himself. Fine, it’s just a sick day. He’s been sick before, he can get over this with some painkillers and rest. He doesn’t want to go there but his thoughts don’t ask for permission. Strange as it may sound, it’s the first time in his life he has to nurse himself back to health. Usually, Shanks took upon that role with excessive eagerness, fussing over him and making sure he had everything he needed and more. As usual, Mihawk didn’t shy away from expressing his frustration but he wasn’t really fooling anyone. It was nice, having the redhead care for him like that. This sickness must be affecting him more than he imagined. As he runs his hand over the right side of the bed, its emptiness strikes him for the first time in five years.</p><p>Instead of dwelling in the past, Mihawk braces himself and gets out of bed. He’s almost knocked back down by the protests of his own body. He groans and makes step after slow step down the hallway, supporting himself against the wall. For the first time in 15 years, he questions his decision to move into a house so big. Has the hallway always been so damn long? He walks and walks, sweating and shivering, and the hallway keeps on going. A 30-second walk has turned into a 5-minute ordeal. Mihawk stands at the top of the stairs, slick hands on the railing. He takes a few calming breaths. His stomach feels fine but the ache in his head is downright excruciating.</p><p>Going down the stairs proves easier than he expected, thankfully. Though he almost lost his balance several times, he managed to make it to the ground floor unscathed. He’s going to make this as quick as possible, grab some tea, and hole up in the smoking-room.</p><p>(The name is mostly for show, really. Mihawk is willing to excuse alcoholism but smoking is strictly prohibited in this house.)</p><p>There are people in the kitchen, which is not surprising. Against his father’s wishes for peace and quiet, Zoro almost always has somebody over. Mihawk can never be too mad at his children. Even if their friends are downright insufferable, he’s glad they’ve grown into sociable young people, trustworthy and fun to have around.</p><p>As he grows closer to the kitchen, the sounds become clearer. He makes out Perona’s voice, endlessly gushing about something. Then there’s Zoro, interrupting his sister just to annoy her. But there’s a third voice, one that Mihawk needs only a split second to recognize. It belongs to a grown man, one that laughs as he walks around the kitchen he knows too well, the one they tiled together and used to spend every Sunday morning in, cooking a full breakfast for the kids.</p><p>He dashes forward, as much as his shaking, sore legs can carry him and bursts into the kitchen. His entrance commands silence in the room. Perona is sitting on the breakfast bar, bottle-feeding last night’s rescue. She must have cleaned it up a bit. Mihawk can make out black fur, a little tail, big amber eyes. Zoro is sitting next to her, eating a bowl of cereal because, once again, he woke up at an ungodly hour. Shanks is resting against the counter by the stove, supervising a pot of soup. Mihawk’s nose is far too horribly congested to make out the scent but he bets it’s chicken soup. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Zoro exclaims. “You look like you’re dead.”</p><p>Mihawk scowls. As is natural, his gaze falls on Shanks, who simply smiles as a response to the glare. “Good morning, toots.”</p><p>“Why are you here?” The sound of his own voice makes him cringe, the pain that comes with forming every word is nearly unbearable. “And why are you bottle-feeding the animal, Perona?”</p><p>Perona scowls deeply at her father, clutching the little cat closer. “Don’t call him that!” she barks. “His name is Edgar Allan Paw, we bonded and I’m keeping him!”</p><p>“It’s just a little cat, Hawkeyes.”</p><p>“Shut up,” he snarls. He doesn’t know where to focus, the stray animal his daughter decided to adopt without asking or his ex-partner having somehow snuck into his home? He turns to Zoro, narrowing his eyes at him. “Why aren’t you at practice?”</p><p>“Hey, don’t take it out on the ki-”</p><p>“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?!” He’s tired. Just a few minutes awake and he’s already exhausted. He seeks out the nearest stool and nearly collapses on it, elbows on the counter as his fingers curl into his sweaty hair. The fever is making him shiver, breathing through his nose is impossible. </p><p>“I couldn’t just leave you alone like that,” Zoro explains. “Had to make sure someone’s taking care of you before I left.”</p><p>Mihawk guesses this was Perona’s idea, since his son’s head is notoriously full of nothing but air. It’s touching, he hates to admit, but he’s far too stubborn to accept the sentiment.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he says as he’s burning with fever, breathing heavily through the mouth. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Perona scoffs. “I came to wake you up this morning and I honest to God thought you were dying.”</p><p>Surely, she’s being dramatic. Mihawk turns his horribly stiff neck to the side, catching his reflection on a windowpane. Well. Maybe she’s not. He’s always been pale, extremely so, and this illness has made his skin turn a shade of light gray. Concerning, to say the least. His hair is scruffier than usual, sticking out like horns. His bloodshot eyes definitely don’t help in making him look less demonic. He frowns again. </p><p>“You kids can go on ahead,” Shanks says like it’s the most natural thing. He flashes Mihawk a wink and a smile. “Dad’s in good hands.” He pauses. “Hand?”</p><p>“Oh my God,” Mihawk groans and slumps into the counter.</p><p>His traitorous children make their exit, leaving him alone with the last person he wants to see at the moment. Even after nearly 30 years of knowing each other, Shanks’ ability to annoy him by simply breathing in the same space as him remains a mystery to Mihawk. </p><p>“Get out of my house.”</p><p>Stupid move, to be honest, only made his throat hurt more. Shanks isn’t going to leave even if Mihawk threatens to use force. That might encourage him to stay, actually. The redhead smiles knowingly and goes to prepare Mihawk some tea. Mihawk looks up, observing him while feeling an irritation (or vomit) bubble in his stomach. The worst part is that Shanks <em>belongs</em>. The space around him swallows him in and the memories flood back into Mihawk’s head as he sits there helplessly. Shanks slams the drawer shut with a sway of his hips and hums as he cooks. He shoves the spoon he stirs with in his mouth, then quickly discards it, knowing Mihawk finds that disgusting. The sink is almost full with nothing but spoons.</p><p>“Why are you here, Red?”</p><p>“To take care of you,” Shanks shrugs casually. “Look,” he sighs and turns around, cutting off Mihawk before he can tell him off again. “I know you don’t like me being here but you look like shit. Bet you feel like it, too.”</p><p>“You can just make the soup and go.”</p><p>“I’m not leaving you alone until I make sure your fever’s down.”</p><p>“I don’t want you here.” Lies, but Mihawk has never been the one to swallow his pride.</p><p>“Well, you have no choice.”</p><p>The kitchen falls into silence. Last night’s downpour has been reduced to light drizzle. The grounds are shrouded in fog, as is usually the case in this part of town. The two men stay still, glaring at each other. The tension between them sparks like electricity, crackling in the air. The kettle’s shrill whistle breaks the silence. Shanks reaches for a cupboard, aiming for the mugs. Instead, he finds bowls, neatly stacked inside each other. Mihawk smiles smugly. This isn’t his house anymore. Things have changed.</p><p>“Made you some tea,” he says as he passes Mihawk a cup. Steam rises to his face and he can already feel his nose open up. “It’s chamomile.”</p><p>“Am I supposed to say thank you?”</p><p>“It would be nice.”</p><p>“I didn’t ask for this.”</p><p>“I’m not forcing it down your throat, Mihawk. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”</p><p>Silence again. Mihawk looks down at his cup with irritation, as if it’s to blame for the predicament he’s in. Reluctantly, he brings it to his lips. It’s pleasant, soothing as it travels down his sore throat. He keeps holding it even as he sets it back down, letting its warmth seep in his system through his fingertips. </p><p>“You should go back to sleep, you need rest,” Shanks advises. Mihawk can’t help but scoff at the irony of it all. Out of all people, he’s the one to tend to Mihawk like this. Then again, there’s no one else.</p><p>“I wanna sit here a while.”</p><p>“With me?”</p><p>“Unfortunately.”</p><p>Shanks grins. His bottom lip curls under his teeth, his shoulders shake as he does a little snicker. Mihawk sighs wearily. Fine, maybe he’s willing to let him stay a while, if only for a day. After all, they agreed to be amicable exes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
..</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Roger squints down at the order, trying to see if he got it right. “Who the fucks orders fifteen donuts for breakfast?”</p><p>Ace sighs. “You don’t question the customers, you just give them what they want.”</p><p>“And why did he text the order? Can’t he just come get it himself?”</p><p>Ace sighs, heavier this time. “You don’t question the customers, you just give them what they want. Also, try not to swear too much. It’s really bad business practice.”</p><p>“What if someone’s being rude-”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Roger!” Ace explodes. He throws the rag he’s cleaning with on the counter and turns to glare at his father. “How many times do I have to say it to you?! You don’t question the customers and you don’t talk back! What is so difficult for you to understand?!”</p><p>The little bell at the entrance chimes as the door opens. A young woman peers inside, looking around sheepishly. She seems surprised to find two men behind the counter of a flower-themed cafe, sporting matching frilly aprons. </p><p>“Um...hello? she mutters. “Is...is this the right place?”</p><p>“Are you the new girl?” She nods. Ace sighs, relieved. At least something’s going according to plan. He just hopes her walking in on him yelling at Roger doesn’t discourage her. “Welcome! I’m Ace, Rouge’s son.”</p><p>“I’m Rouge’s husband.”</p><p>“Ignore him. Mom’s sick so I'll be the manager for today.” He glances down at the papers. “You’re...Pudding, right?”</p><p>“Yes! Nice to meet you. I know who you are, by the way. I keep track of all of Sanji’s relationships.”</p><p>“You’re one of Linlin’s!” Roger exclaims, loudly and inches away from Ace’s now shattered eardrum.</p><p>Pudding’s smile drops. “Is that a problem?” she stammers. </p><p>“Not for me! Just don’t tell your Mom we work together!” He laughs loudly, slapping the poor girl on the shoulder, hard enough to make her knees buckle. </p><p>“You’re here as a temp,” Ace hisses. “Mom will be back in a couple of days, Pudding. No need to worry about this guy.” Ace hands Pudding her apron and she quickly puts it on. “Now then,” he starts, “since you’ve worked at a bakery before, I think it’s best for you to take over the kitchen. I’ve already done most of the prep work, you mostly need to bake, slice and add some final touches. Do you know how to work a coffee station?” She nods. “Perfect. I know it sounds like too much for the first day but I’m going to help you with everything you need. Roger, you help Pudding with the drinks and handle the register. I’ll be serving tables and doing the cleaning. If we all help each other, I think the day will be a success.”</p><p>Pudding clasps her hands together. “Perfect! Where do I start?”</p><p>“Well, we have an order for fifteen jam donuts. Seems like a good place.”</p><p>“On it, Boss.”</p><p>Ace sighs. So far, so good. Rouge asked him to keep texting her about how things are going but Ace doesn’t want to disrupt her rest. He firmly believes - and sincerely hopes - that the day will be just fine. The possibility of Roger acting up has him on his toes but thankfully, Roger without Rayleigh is pretty harmless. These two tend to push each other to act fucking stupid in a way no one can predict, even at 73.</p><p>Fifteen minutes before they open for business and Ace takes a final look around. The tables are clean and the floor has been swept. There’s plenty of toilet paper in the bathroom and the coffee machine is up and running. He even chose an appropriate playlist, something chill and relaxing to go with the gloomy day outside.</p><p>The door opens once again, unexpectedly. This time, it’s Katakuri, who takes up most of the space immediately when he walks in. Ace freezes on the spot, staring at the large man, not sure how to handle this situation. He knows Katakuri goes along with Luffy but that’s not a measure. Everyone does. He bravely clears his throat and puts on his best manager voice.</p><p>“Good morning...sir. We’re not open for business yet.”</p><p>“I know,” Katakuri replies. “I’m the one who ordered the donuts. If it’s not much of a hassle, could I have them now? I don’t want to run into any other customers.”</p><p>Ace blinks a few times. Katakuri sits by the entrance, perfectly polite but obviously in a rush. Pudding peers out of the kitchen, curious. At the sight of her older brother, her eyes widen, jaw falling slightly open in shock. </p><p>“Katakuri!”</p><p>“Pudding! What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I work here starting today. Did Mom send you?”</p><p>“You work with Roger?!”</p><p>“Hey, I’m just the temp.”</p><p>“Did Mom send you?” Pudding insists. Katakuri hesitates. It lasts only for a split second but Pudding manages to catch it. “She hasn’t even noticed I’m gone, has she?”</p><p>Katakuri doesn’t answer immediately. His expression is hard to read, the way his mouth is concealed under his scarf, but his eyes lack some of their usual luster, instead replaced by a softness that can be labeled as fraternal worry, paternal even. Ace knows that look very well. It’s on his face whenever Luffy comes home with another broken bone.</p><p>“We’ve been looking for you,” Katakuri says. “Where have you been? Where are you staying?”</p><p>“I’m not gonna tell you!”</p><p>“Are you safe, at least? Pudding, you’re too young to be out on your own!”</p><p>Ace, back pressed against the wall, walks to stand beside Roger. His father is watching the scene intently, munching on a breakfast bagel. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Charlotte family drama.” The two siblings continue their heated exchange while Ace and Roger remain as simply spectators. Ace is at a loss. Not even an hour into being a manager and his first crisis has already arrived. He checks the time. The shop opens in five minutes, Katakuri still won’t leave and Pudding won’t stop yelling.</p><p>“You know she doesn’t give a flying fuck about us all unless we do as she pleases!”</p><p>“Don’t say that!”</p><p>“It’s true, isn’t it? Did you forget what she did to Lola and Chiffon? If she really cared about her family, she would have at least sent a card for Chiffon’s baby!” Huffing, she storms into the kitchen and comes back with Katakuri’s fifteen donuts in a box. She rings him up. “That will be 25.99 and I really think you should leave.” She sighs. “I love you, Katakuri, and you’re the closest thing to a parent all of us ever had. But you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Twenty-six bucks for donuts!?” Roger stage-whispers and Ace elbows him in the gut.</p><p>Katakuri approaches the counter. “Are you safe at least?” he asks. “Are you happy?”</p><p>“Yes to both,” Pudding replies with a sigh. </p><p>The corners of Katakuri’s eyes crease, pulled by what is probably the precursor to a smile. He gives a small nod and pats his little sister’s head. “That’s all I need to know. Thanks for breakfast.”</p><p>“Have a nice day!” Ace calls out as Katakuri leaves. </p><p>“I’m really sorry about this,” Pudding hastily says before Ace can even look at her. </p><p>“Nah, it’s okay. I’m no stranger to family members causing drama at your workplace.” He checks his watch. 9:59 AM. Crisis successfully averted. </p><p> </p><p>..</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Morning comes, a new day begins to rise on the horizon, one in which Mihawk’s nose is no longer congested and his body is no longer boiling in its own blood. He blinks slowly, surprised to see his bedroom bathed in the early morning light. He usually shuts the curtains before going to bed, not letting a smidge of sunlight slither in the following morning. It has to be another’s work, probably of the man sleeping soundly next to him.</p><p>Shanks is still asleep, sprawled across his side of the bed while snoring, still dressed in his clothes. Slowly, Mihawk pushes himself up to his elbow, silently observing the redhead’s sleeping face. How long has it been since he’s woken up to this view? He wants to be mad but his own heart won’t let him. It feels nice, in a way nothing has felt in a long time. His gaze roams all over Shanks’ face, his strikingly handsome features that have all but melted into a mask of tranquility. He lays back on his pillow, silently observing his quiet breaths. </p><p>Shanks’ lips twitch as a sly smile lights his face up. Mihawk frowns. “What are you looking at?”</p><p>“There’s a bug on my bed.”</p><p>“That right?”</p><p>“Mhm. A pretty big one, too.”</p><p>Shanks laughs. The sound booms around the quiet room, sinking into Mihawk’s bloodstream. Shanks rolls on his side, smiling at his former lover. He sighs, content, like a man facing the gates of Heaven. He’s pushing his luck, he knows it, but after their break-up, every interaction with Mihawk has been a gamble. He reaches over, trailing the side of the other man’s face, delighted to see that Mihawk is letting him.</p><p>“A spider?”</p><p>“A leech.”</p><p>Shanks grimaces. “I don’t think leeches are bugs…”</p><p>“They’re not. I was just saying it to be cute.”</p><p>Shanks grins. He scoots closer, too close. He leans in, lips already seeking Mihawk’s, but the black-haired man stops them with a hand pressed against Shanks’ mouth.</p><p>“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” he mumbles. “I appreciate it.”</p><p>“What are you saying? It’s my duty to care for the man I love.”</p><p>A long-suffering sigh leaves Mihawk’s lips, heavy with words better left unsaid. <em>Please. Don't. Don't go there. I don't want you to.</em> “Shanks,” is the only thing he manages to say, tone both pleading and warning.</p><p>“I love you. I never stopped.”</p><p>“Don’t.”</p><p>“Do you hate me?”</p><p>“Shanks,” Mihawk groans. </p><p>“It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you,” he hastily intervenes though his tone remains soft, the look in his eye is nearly pleading. “Just tell me. Please. Do you hate me?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mihawk replies, letting the hissing whisper fill the small space between them. “I hate you.”</p><p>“Good,” Shanks smiles fondly, genuinely.</p><p>“You’re happy I hate you?”</p><p>“I’m just happy there’s something in your heart left for me, even if it’s hate.” He shifts again, one stray lock of scarlet hair falling across his face. Mihawk reaches for it, fixing it. “I don’t deserve it. I deserve for you to forget me.”</p><p>“Leave, then. Get out of my life. Make me forget you.”</p><p>“I can’t,” Shanks confesses, caught between awkward puppy-love and a grown man owning up to his faults. It’s not often, he’s rather proud, after all, but he’s sure this one he will never forgive himself for. He’s lying beside the man he loves and Mihawk wants him gone. And he’s the only one to blame. </p><p>“Will you ever forgive me?”</p><p>Mihawk sighs. He sits up, pressing his back against the headboard as his gaze scans the room. It’s early, he can’t make out any noise coming from the house. His kids must be sleeping still. </p><p>“I forgave you long ago, once I overcame the initial shock.”</p><p>Mihawk chuckles at the way Shanks eagerly pulls himself up, sitting next to him, looking right at him with that pleading, begging look. “Really?” Mihawk nods. “Then what’s stopping us from being together again?”</p><p>“You dumping me at the altar, making a fool out of me before our friends and family, and missing out what was supposed to be the happiest day of our lives because you were drunk proved one thing.” He pauses, trying to think of a good analogy. “You and I are like Mentos and Coke.”</p><p>Shanks has the nerve to smile cheekily. “Explosive?”</p><p>“Incompatible!” Mihawk huffs, turning to face the other man. “For you, life is a party, you don’t mind waking up with a hangover every day of the week! I can’t follow that lifestyle! When we decided to get married, it meant that we’re finally settling down. That we wanted the same thing; peace and quiet.”</p><p>Shanks was actually willing to just sit there and take it, hit after hit, listening to Mihawk point out the proof of their incompatibility. And for a while, he really did listen, remorseful and with his head low, only looking at Mihawk when those two last words were uttered.</p><p>Peace and quiet.</p><p>What a fucking hypocrite, saying this right to his face, trying to get him to believe it, to fool him like he’s been fooling himself.</p><p>“You don’t want peace and quiet.” He gets up on his knees, chasing Mihawk’s gaze as the other remains unwilling to look at him. “Don’t fucking lie to me like that, as if your biggest dream is to become a stay-at-home Dad! As if I don’t know you.”</p><p>“Maybe I changed in those years we’ve been apart. I have a life outside of you, you know.”</p><p>“Cut the bullshit, Hawkeyes, it’s just you and me here.” Trust Mihawk to rile him up like that at the crack of dawn. To compare his former lover to a spring day would be cheesy, albeit not entirely wrong. Downpour, sunshine, even hail if he got far enough under his skin, all changing with the span of mere minutes. </p><p>“You’re bored out of your fucking mind and you have the nerve to tell me you want ‘peace and quiet’? I’ll tell you why you’re doing the things you’re doing. You have nothing better to do. You took up gardening because you have nothing better to do. You train Zoro to become better than you because you have nothing better to do. You have a job you don’t give a shit about because you have nothing better to do. You let Doflamingo fuck you because you got nothing better to do.” Mihawk’s eyes widen, mouth falling open just a bit. There’s a conversation to be had there, inevitably, but later. Elsewhere. “I’m better,” Shanks concludes. “Do me.”</p><p>A few seconds pass, enough for Shanks’ words to settle like dust. The silence of the bedroom is shattered like fine glass, abruptly, all because of Mihawk’s laughter. It was always a shock to those few around them that actually ever had the luxury of hearing Mihawk laugh. Shanks found comfort in that sound, took pride in making the other man laugh, whether with or at him. </p><p>Once the laughter has quieted down, Mihawk’s eyes flutter open, gleaming with mirth or leftover fever. “Are you saying my life is empty without you?”</p><p>"Wanna try proving me wrong?"</p><p>Mihawk laughs again, a rarity all in itself but even more so to happen in the span of mere moments. He sighs, still smiling faintly as he lays down on the bed. Oh, he’d just love to. The steel gray of Shanks’ eyes is spewing flames, his lips are curved with that ever-present teasing smirk. Mihawk is tempted, to say the least, but he ultimately decides against it. He sinks underneath the covers, rolling on his side with his back turned to Shanks. It doesn’t take much more than a few seconds for the redhead to scoot closer, arm thrown over him, mouth buried in his neck. </p><p>“Does that mean you’re my boyfriend again?” Shanks murmurs against his skin.</p><p>“I’m too old to be anyone’s boy-anything.”</p><p>“Fine then. Husband?”</p><p>Shanks tests the waters, leaving a little peck, almost chaste, on Mihawk’s jaw. His chest swells a little when he hears the familiar hum Mihawk always makes when he’s smiling. </p><p>“If you insist.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>doflamingo chapter coming this week and I am fucking PUMPED</p><p>thanks for reading babes xx</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Keeping Up With the Donquixotes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rosinante finally gives in and takes his girlfriend and her daughters to meet his brother. What happens next will shock you but not him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! This was a long time coming and I want to say thank you for your patience! I was extremely busy with several uni projects but now I finally have the time to work on this story I love so much! Basically in this chapter, Roci takes Bellmere to have dinner with his brother and as he expected, things turn from bad to worse! I LOVE Doflamingo, I think he's the absolute worst but dammit that's the best part about him lmao I had so much fun writing this one and I hope you all enjoy it as well :D please lmk, I value your opinion so much &lt;3</p><p>If you feel like it come over at twitter @_mollydewinter_ or at tumblr @mollydewinter to say hi :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<span class="u">Keeping Up With the Donquixotes</span>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This isn’t a good idea. It’s not even half-and-half. It’s just straight bad, and not the fun kind of bad. It’s horrible, should be illegal, and could potentially be dangerous.</p><p>“Great!” Bellmere says and clasps her hands together. “Will Friday be alright?”</p><p>Rosinante doesn’t respond. He can see her lips move but all that he hears is white noise. Bellmere waves her hand in front of his eyes. Nothing. She slaps him lightly on the jaw and Rosinante jumps up, spilling shitty, piping hot, vending machine coffee all over himself.</p><p>“Shit!” he hisses and starts fumbling around, trying to clean up. </p><p>“Hey, are you okay? You seem kinda nervous.”</p><p>“What makes you say that?”</p><p>She shrugs. Though her stance is nonchalant, Rosinante knows her well enough to say with certainty that she’s getting a little pissed off. “I don’t know. You’re sort of acting like you don’t want me to meet your family. Or rather, you don’t want your family to meet me.”</p><p>There it is. He stops trying to clean his ruined sweater and looks up at her with wide eyes. It's true, he doesn’t want her to meet his family. He doesn’t want this amazing and just downright perfect woman to meet his only relatives that are in town. If he could, he would show her to the whole world, screaming that she had chosen him, of all people, as a partner. He is immensely proud of Bellmere. Of his family? Less so.</p><p>“We’re official, aren’t we? I know your son and all his friends, I’ve Skyped your parents. So why shouldn’t I meet your brother and his kids?” More silence. She huffs angrily. “For fuck’s sake, Roci! Can you tell me a single word?!!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, feeling his face turn beet red. He grabs her by the shoulders, holding her firmly while staring into her eyes. Too intense, perhaps, though he needs to get his point across. “I love you. I love you so much and I am so proud of you. I just...I just want to protect you.”</p><p>“From what?” she snorts</p><p>He swallows. How can he say this? How can he phrase this without giving too much away or offending her? “My brother… Remember when we saw Tiger King?”</p><p>She blinks, obviously having a hard time understanding where he was going with this. “...yes?”</p><p>“Now, imagine Joe Exotic and Elton John had a baby.”</p><p>“...I don’t think I want-”</p><p>“That’s my brother.”</p><p>“Oh!" She pauses. "Interesting.”</p><p>Interesting doesn’t even begin to describe it. “It’s not that I’m ‘hiding’ you. I just want you to be prepared. For the worst.”</p><p>Bellmere starts laughing. Oh, how sweet it is, the laughter of the blissfully ignorant. “I’m sure you’re being a bit dramatic. You have a lovely family, Roci, and I’m sure your brother isn’t any different. I know Doflamingo is a bit eccentric but with such nice parents and a brother as sweet as you, I’m sure he’s a great person.” She leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Friday, 7 pm. Don’t be late.”</p><p>With that, she leaves, going on with her duties around the HQ, while Rosinante is having an existential crisis next to the vending machine, dripping coffee on the floor.</p><p>“Heeey!”</p><p>A long arm is thrown around his shoulders and pulls him close to a tall, skinny body. Aokiji grins down at him, wiggling his brows with newfound energy. “What are you two lovebirds doing on Friday night?”</p><p>Suddenly, the reality of the upcoming Friday evening becomes unbearably… real. Rosinante stops talking and looks up to his friend, wide, brown eyes screaming for help. “Bellmere wants to have dinner with my brother.”</p><p>Several gasps came from the neighboring offices. At the SAPD, the walls have eyes, ears, and strong opinions. Smoker pokes his head out of his office, glaring at Rosinante with a scowl. “Why would you do this to her?!”</p><p>“She’s a nice woman!” Tashigi says. “She doesn’t deserve this!”</p><p>“She’s gonna dump you.”</p><p>“Thanks for the encouragement, you guys!”</p><p>As if he wasn’t feeling stressed enough already. He collapses on the nearest chair and lets out all the air in his lungs. He’s itching for a smoke but Sengoku doesn’t allow it inside the HQ.</p><p>“You have to tell Law.”</p><p>Rosinante twitches. “He’s going to hate me for this.”</p><p>“No, he won’t,” Aokiji reassures him. “He’s a good kid, he’ll understand!”</p><p>“...you really think so?”</p><p>“I know it!”</p><p><br/>
…</p><p> </p><p><br/>
“You did WHAT?!”</p><p>The downtown, 7th-floor apartment Rosinante shares with his son is filled with the scent of the spaghetti Law is making. Cooking duty is his thing, it had more or less always been that way but it had only become official after Rosinante managed to make the oven explode. Again.</p><p>Rosinante is leaning against the counter, right beside the open window as he smokes. He wanted to break the news to Law in person so he waited until they were both back home, ready to spend the evening just chilling. The optimistic part in him was hoping Law would take this well, or at least just accept it. Of course, he was proven wrong, and he can’t even blame the young man. Law is visibly angry, shoving pots and pans out of the way with rare, nervous clumsiness, stirring the pasta a bit too aggressively.</p><p>“She insisted,” Rosinante tries to explain but Law just glares at him.</p><p>“You could have lied to her! Told her he’s out of town!”</p><p>“She would have just asked for another date! You know how stubborn she is, there’s no way she would have taken no for an answer.” He sighs heavily, tapping the ash off into an ashtray. “And it’s not like I didn’t try to convince her otherwise.”</p><p>Law groans. “When is it happening?”</p><p>“Friday.”</p><p>“This Friday?” Rosinante nods. “That’s only two days from now.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I need at least a two-week notice to mentally prepare for meeting Doflamingo.”</p><p>“I know and I’m sorry. Bell insisted.”</p><p>Law sighs. He grabs two plates and carefully serves dinner. Meeting with his uncle is quite literally a fate worse than death. Law can’t think of a person he can’t stand just as much, and he’s met plenty of unsavory characters. But Doflamingo? Not only does he take the fucking cake, but he also bakes even more. </p><p>“Fine,” he finally says. Maybe this time won’t be bad. Doflamingo cares immensely about appearances, social status and etiquette. Perhaps, when in front of guests, he can behave for once in his fucking life. Then again, that could just be wishful thinking.</p><p>“Have you told him?”</p><p>“Yes. Called him right before I left work.”</p><p>“How did it go?”</p><p>Rosinante freezes, wide eyes staring at his plate but seeing nothing. A few moments of silence pass. “...as well as you’d expect.”</p><p>Tired as they both are, they dig in immediately. The food is good, having a boyfriend with a bottomless stomach has really elevated Law’s cooking. Rosinante is able to calm down, if even for a few minutes. He enjoys the food and the comfortable silence with his son, stubbornly pushing his brother’s presence out of his head.</p><p>“Does Bell know?”</p><p>Rosinante looks up. Law’s brows are furrowed, his expression is stern. It’s almost permanent on his face, he’s always been a too-serious young man. He doesn’t need to make himself clearer for Rosinante to understand.</p><p>“No,” he says, shaking his head sadly. “I...Every time I feel like I can tell her, I hesitate. She knows about Dad and all but…” He sighs. He pushes his plate away, suddenly heavy with too much to think about. “She’s not gonna take it well.”</p><p>Law stands up. Without saying a single word, he walks to the freezer and pulls out a pint of dark chocolate chip ice cream, hand-made by Sanji because “if you’re going to eat crap, at least make sure it’s good quality”. He unceremoniously drops the container in the middle of the dinner table and presents Rosinante with a spoon. The older man reaches for it with gratitude and buries it into the chocolatey goodness. Perhaps combining spicy tomato sauce with chocolate ice cream is a bit questionable but the combo works.</p><p>“It’s just one dinner,” Law says. He’s never this reassuring. Rosinante knows his son doesn’t have an optimistic bone in his body and it’s mostly his job to remind Law that he is not, in fact, a dumpster set on fire, rolling down a hill. But he leans into the comforting words, even though he knows it’s a front.</p><p>“You’re right,” he smiles a little. Some ice cream falls off his spoon, staining the shirt he had pulled out from the dryer this very morning. “It’s just a dinner.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
…</p><p> </p><p><br/>
“Holy <em>fuck</em>,” Nami damn nearly sobs, voice barely above a shaky whisper. “I think I’m gonna cum.”</p><p>If over-the-top had a physical manifestation, Doflamingo’s ostentatious coke den would be it. The mansion is placed on the very top of the hill, overlooking the suburbs, the city, and the bay, higher than everybody. Nature surrounds it, tall trees very conveniently hide it from the prying eyes of the lesser, poorer neighbors. The ascend into madness begins from the 500m long driveway, or rather, from the iron gate, three stories high, decked out in gold and with Doflamingo’s initials at the front. Even in late winter, the front yard is as lush as ever; perfectly trimmed emerald grass, shrubbery in all sorts of fun yet elegant shapes, rose bushes heavy with buds that are ready to pop any day now. A fountain stands in the middle of the front courtyard, right before the stairs that lead to the impressive main entrance. The centerpiece is one of Doflamingo’s most beloved sculptures, <em>The Abduction of Persephone</em>. Scattered all around it are lilies, dancing in the bubbling water. To give him some credit, Doflamingo’s beast of a house isn’t tacky or gaudy. It just <em>screams</em> old money in the most obnoxious and painful to the eye way.</p><p>Rosinante walks back to the car and unties the present from the hood. It’s an orange tree, as one does, because what the hell can he offer to a man who has everything? He carries it back to where his entourage stands and together, they all take the very first step forward.</p><p>“This place sure is fancy,” Bell whispers, obviously more than just impressed. </p><p>Before any of them can ring the doorbell, Rosinante stops them. He looks at the girls with wide, almost pleading eyes. “Do you remember everything I told you?”</p><p>Bellmere rolls her eyes, giving her boyfriend an exasperated smile. “Roci, you’re being ridiculous. I don’t need to pass a damn quiz to have dinner with your family!”</p><p>“We don’t mention your Dad, Crocodile, or his son, Bellamy,” Nojiko says and Rosinante sighs with relief. At least someone’s taking him seriously.</p><p>And so, they walk to the main entrance, an imposing set of glass double doors with brass detailing. </p><p>“It’s just a dinner,” Rosinante mumbles to himself as the door is cracked open. Just a dinner. It’s only food, a drink and they’ll be gone before he even realizes what happened. If there’s one thing Doflamingo is good at, it’s putting up the perfect front. Perhaps Rosinante is just <em>that</em> desperate, but he chooses to trust his brother’s need to appease everyone, to appear perfect and unproblematic.</p><p>Also, his guests for the night are cops and he is currently under several federal investigations. Surely, even with all the power he holds, he wouldn’t want to swing his bat at the hornet’s nest. </p><p>Baby 5 is the one who answers the door and Rosinante can feel some of the tension that’s gathered at his shoulders disappear. His niece is far from what one would call an ordinary young woman, though, by the standards of the Donquixote family, she’s as normal as they get. Her scarlet lips split into a wide grin, dark blue eyes widening with joy. Two slim, perfectly manicured fingers reach up to pluck the cigarette that’s dangling from her lips as she pulls her uncle and cousin into a hug.</p><p>“Welcome, welcome!” she laughs, squeezing them both as best as she can. Law squirms out of her hold, furiously fixing the shirt she so easily wrinkled. “Oh, I’ve missed you two so much! You even brought us a tree!”</p><p>“It’s Bell’s favorite,” Rosinante explains with a casual smile. Baby 5’s welcoming is comforting, but he’s not a fool. Letting his guard down might as well equal death. This is what Doflamingo wants, make his prey feel right at home, completely lost and unsuspecting even as the jaws of death snap around it.</p><p>(Deep down, he knows he’s being awfully dramatic but one can only ever expect the worst from Doflamingo.)</p><p>“You all look stunning,” Baby 5 continues, turning to the ladies. “Can’t believe a loser like you got himself such a hottie, uncle.”</p><p>“There she goes,” Law grumbles bitterly, earning a scoff from his cousin. </p><p>The arrival of their much-anticipated guests attracts the attention of the rest of the family. There are some new sounds, the clicking of heels against the marble floor, a squeaky, childish voice, the faint scent of gunpowder. The sight of Bellmere and the girls happily interacting with his nieces and nephews fills Rosinante with a sense of comfort strong enough to momentarily overpower the sense of dread that stirs like nausea in his gut. From the outside looking in, this is just a normal family.</p><p>“Uncle!”</p><p>A chill rolls down Rosinante’s spine, like an ice cube gliding on his skin, freezing his sweat. Although it’s not obvious at first, those around them know that out of Doflamingo’s flock of kids, Monet takes after him the most. She descends the stairs slowly, elegant and poised, with her back straight and her graceful hand sliding down the railing. While her siblings are dressed in their own mix of casual and eccentric, Monet’s custom Chanel two-piece and antique diamond jewelry are there to remind Rosinante that they are still aristocrats. She smiles, bright and welcoming but Rosinante can’t suppress his shivering. Her teeth are too white, too sharp, too many. The smile doesn’t reach her large amber eyes. Ever-sharp, they seem to pin Rosinante to the wall behind.</p><p>“It’s so good to finally meet this Bellmere we’ve heard so much about!”</p><p>Bellmere’s eyes widen with surprise. A teasing smirk curls her lips and she nudges her boyfriend. “You’ve been talking about me?”</p><p>Monet chuckles warmly. “Uncle is very secretive but we have our methods of… extracting information.” She giggles. Her gaze shifts to her watch, a true work of art worth three times Rosinante’s entire apartment, a gift from her father for her 18th birthday, nearly a decade ago. “It’s time we went to the dining room. Dad!”</p><p>Rosinante <em>feels</em> Doflamingo before seeing him. His presence draws nearer, the sound of his footsteps becomes clearer with each second. Rosinante looks up slowly, as if pulled by an invisible string, meeting his brother eye-to-obnoxious orange glasses. It’s all there, same as always in the most disturbing way, because Doflamingo is merely an observer of time running around him, having never experienced its effects. From the glasses, Rosinante’s gaze moves to that grin, those pearly white teeth that reflect the crystal chandelier’s light. Doflamingo begins to move, slowly coming down the stairs, each painfully long step taken into pointy-toed shoes. He’s dressed in a pink and orange zebra-print shirt and green, snake-print pants that leave his toned and hairy legs exposed. Of course, his hulking frame is engulfed by his beloved coat - one of many identical copies - that leaves a trail of pink feathers in his wake.</p><p>“From beyond the grave,” he chuckles but his mouth doesn’t move, face still frozen into that mask of unbridled joy. “Donquixote Rosinante.”</p><p>“Daddy, look!” Sugar calls cheerfully. “The nice lady brought us a tree!”</p><p>Doflamingo arrives at the foyer and his presence speaks louder than the awkward silence. Rosinante is by no means a small guy but Doflamingo is just <em>massive</em>. Seeing his older brother after so long brings him back to the reality of how big he is, how his presence drowns out the air around him, drinks all the light with that trademark greed. Rosinante gulps. Bead after bead of sweat won’t stop rolling down his neck and Doflamingo only smiles, knowing. </p><p>“It’s a beautiful tree,” he grins. “As are the ones that brought it.”</p><p>“Aww!” Nami coos, louder than either of her companions. Before she can offer Doflamingo her hand for a kiss, Law yanks her back down, pinning her with a glare. Sure, she needs funds for her ‘Airbnb for the LGBT’ business, but he is not going to let her make a deal with the actual devil.</p><p>Doflamingo - of course - takes notice of his nephew's grumpiness and switches his focus to him. “Law,” he says, voice dripping with teeth-rotting affection. “How have you been?”</p><p>“Fine,” Law grumbles. “Busy with med school.”</p><p>Doflamingo nods sympathetically. “You poor thing. You can tell us all about your struggles over dinner. If you’d follow me, please.”</p><p>The guests, cleverly trapped between Doflamingo and his pack of mini-mes can only do as ordered, following the man as he trots down another hallway gilded in gold. The surprisingly long walk to the dining hall isn’t silent, interrupted here and there by Nami’s chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’. Doflamingo chuckles, turning over his shoulder to glance at the young woman.</p><p>“I could give you all a house tour after dinner,” he says and Nami nods enthusiastically. </p><p>“Get a fucking grip,” Law hisses in her ear, squeezing her arm a bit too tightly. “Can’t you see this guy is the devil?”</p><p>“He’s been nothing but welcoming so far!” Nami whispers back and Law can only grimace in shock as he watches one of his closest friends get sucked into the inescapable vortex that is ‘Doflamingo’s Pace’.</p><p>Finally, they arrive at the dining hall and although things are mostly unchanged, Rosinante takes note of a few alterations. New artwork is displayed on the walls, showcasing sunny flower fields, lush bowls of fruit, and crystal carafes of red wine. A well-trained eye can pinpoint this as the work of an up-and-coming artist, the kind Doflamingo loves to discover while they still struggle around in the mud. </p><p>Another detail Rosinante takes note of is the china laid out on the table. It’s not just another set of fancy porcelain and crystals. It’s their mother’s most beloved, the one she always made sure to use whenever the family ate together, some thirty years ago. Before he can scold himself for such a childish reaction, Rosinante has snapped his head up, searching for his brother’s gaze. Though it remains hidden behind glasses, he knows Doflamingo is looking right at him. </p><p>“Only the best for my family,” he explains as sits down on the head of the table. He chimes his little bell and one after the other, butlers start marching out of the service kitchen, producing the guests with the entrees, along with a basket of freshly baked goods and butter. Of course, the first round of drinks is introduced. Champagne, to get the ball rolling.</p><p>“Here’s to a wonderful dinner,” Doflamingo smiles, raising his glass towards his guests and family. Rosinante sips and he immediately despises the way his tongue betrays him, melting at the first taste of that delicious champagne. This is the real deal, not the shitty $2 sparkling rose Aokiji sneaks into the fridge when Akainu isn’t looking. </p><p>“Roci, you must excuse me for ignoring you, but I have to learn the story from a reliable source.” Doflamingo turns to Bellmere. “Tell me. How did you two meet?” </p><p>Bellmere puts her glass down and turns to Doflamingo. It’s empty, Rosinante notes, not even ten minutes in and her glass is already empty. “We work together so we’ve pretty much always known each other,” she replies. “Although the kids had to intervene for us to realize we were into each other.”</p><p>Rosinante can’t help but smile at his girlfriend’s brief recollection of their story. It’s sweeter than this, longer, too, but the less Doflamingo knows the better. Still, he can take advantage of the smallest bone thrown at him. </p><p>“How typical of you, uncle,” Dellinger snickers. “Getting help from your son to strike a girlfriend,” he says and his brother and sisters all laugh. Law clicks his tongue, knuckles white around his champagne glass. There’s a lot he wants to say, Rosinante knows just by looking at him. </p><p>“My little brother has always had his own special charm,” Doflamingo hums. “How long have you been together for?”</p><p>“Three years now,” Bellmere responds.</p><p>“Oh…” Doflamingo places a hand over his chest, clutching at his heart. “I can’t believe you waited three years to introduce your partner to your family, Roci!”</p><p>Before Rosinante can answer to that, Bellmere speaks up. “Oh, I’ve met your family,” she says casually while munching on a crispy, well-buttered bread roll. “You’re the only one I haven’t been formally introduced to.”</p><p>Doflamingo’s smile twitches. He almost slipped there, nearly let the mask drop. Though his overly polite smile remains in place, a familiar vein pops on his neck. “Is that right? Any reason for that, Roci?”</p><p>“We’re all busy people,” is the answer Rosinante gives and Doflamingo scoffs. He murmurs something bitter only his eldest catches. Monet whispers something back and Doflamingo sighs. Rosinante can feel his eye twitch a little. So far, Doflamingo hasn’t said or done anything to directly provoke his brother but there’s this THING, the one only he can do, that makes people want to grab him by the back of the neck and smear his grin off on the nearest wall. </p><p>As Rosinante had expected, the main course is lobster, Doflamingo’s favorite. Most likely, it’s also another method aiming to humiliate him and Bellmere’s lack of frequent lobster consumption. But today, Rosinante came prepared.</p><p>“Caribbean lobster is such a classic,” Nami muses as she digs in. “We’re lucky they’re in season.”</p><p>Doflamingo quirks a too-pale, barely-there brow. “I take it you know your shellfish.”</p><p>“I’m well-versed in all types of fancy stuff,” Nami offers with a shrug. Nojiko shakes her head, sighing with exasperation. “Although I prefer mine with Chianti rather than Chardonnay. Sure, it’s the obvious choice, but Chianti adds a bit more edge to the dish and all the flavors, don’t you think?”</p><p>Doflamingo laughs. “I’ll have to see for myself.” He chimes his bell and another server walks inside. Doflamingo orders a couple of bottles of said blend be fetched from the cellar immediately. “Thank you for the suggestion.”</p><p>New wine is brought to the table and served immediately. Doflamingo has once again done the absolute most but this is really the only way he can function. Rosinante takes a sip and a bite, just to see if Nami was right. He’s tempted to drink more but he’s a sloppy drunk, an angry one, too. Besides, a drunk cop driving on the highway is never a good picture. </p><p>“Forgive me for going back to this, but I’m really interested in knowing more about how you met my family. I take it you didn’t meet in person?”</p><p>“No, we had a call on Skype. Your mother is so sweet! She even showed me her little flower garden. I hope the retirement community she lives in isn’t too far away and we can meet in person one day soon.”</p><p>“Retirement community?” Doflamingo parrots, genuinely perplexed. </p><p>“Bell,” Rosinante warns in a low, pleading voice, but Bellmere doesn’t catch it. Whether she’s choosing to ignore him or just underestimating the instructions Rosinante gave is unknown. Either way, Rosinante can feel the lobster churn in his stomach and his lips are itching for a smoke. </p><p>“A couple of months after this I finally got to meet this Dad of yours I’ve been hearing so much about!”</p><p>Strike one. Though the damage is done, maybe it’s not too late to salvage it. </p><p>Silence takes over the dining room. Everyone freezes in their seats, except those three blissfully oblivious ones to the can of worms they’ve just opened. Though Bellmere carries on with the conversation eagerly, the change in the atmosphere hasn’t gone unnoticed by her two daughters. </p><p>“Is that right?” Doflamingo hums. Another vein pops, this one is on the side of his head. “And… what would you say your impression of him was?”</p><p>“He certainly lived up to all the wonderful things I’ve heard about him. He’s such a kind, loving man and it’s obvious he inspired his sons to be great parents, too.” Rosinante never thought he’d see this but sure enough, there it is, in the shape and form of his own brother, the physical manifestation of a shitstorm brewing. “And I think what he’s doing is truly admirable. I can see where Roci got all his values from.”</p><p>When Bellmere stops talking, her voice lingers, bouncing around the silent room’s walls and passing before shifty eyes. Doflamingo’s smile has quite literally turned upside down. The edges of his lips are pulled down in a tight frown. “Admirable?” he questions. His voice is low, dripping with venom. Bellmere looks at him with visible confusion. “In what universe is abandoning your family because you suddenly remembered you have a dream you need to follow… admirable?”</p><p>“Grandpa found his calling,” Law blurts before anyone else can speak. “He made sure he left his family in safe hands before going-”</p><p>“I’m sorry, who the fuck asked you?” Doflamingo snaps. Sugar squirms, shifting closer to Gladius, who protectively puts an arm around his little sister. “And you, ‘values’? Really? What values are you talking about? It better not be 'honesty' because you’d be disappointed to learn that my brother has been anything but.”</p><p>“Doffy, that’s enough.”</p><p>“You don’t get to come into my house and give me orders, Rosinante!” Doflamingo barks, slamming his hand on the table, rattling the fine plates and silverware. “And for fuck’s sake! Have some pride in your heritage!”</p><p>“What’s there to be proud of?! If it wasn’t for Dad and Uncle, our family would be the same as everyone else’s!”</p><p>“Roci, what’s going on?”</p><p>Doflamingo smiles again but this time, it’s a lopsided grin, mocking, full of teeth that grind against each other too hard. “Oh, he didn’t tell you? Let me guess… did he give you some sob story about how we grew up on the streets or perhaps that our parents were your average 9-to-5ers until my stupid father decided to become a monk? Whatever it was, I’m sure it wasn’t the truth.”</p><p>“The truth? What truth? Roci, what does he mean?”</p><p>“We’re Celestial Dragons.”</p><p>Nami snorts wine out of her nose, shooting it all over Monet’s tailored two-piece. She breaks out in a coughing fit, the only thing that shatters the deafening silence. She coughs and coughs, tears rolling down her cheeks. Law helps her up, making sure she doesn’t go ahead and choke, as her sister tries to keep her from falling on the floor.</p><p>“...oh.”</p><p>Rosinante wants to spring up, to grab his brother by the neck and punch him until his glasses have molded into his stupid grinning mug. But he can’t even flinch, feeling rather than seeing the world around him, head filled with a deafening buzz.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>Every pair of eyes turns to Bellmere. She looks around with furrowed brows, clearly not understanding the attention. </p><p>“Excuse me?” Doflamingo blurts.</p><p>“Bell, you knew?”</p><p>“Of course I knew, dumbass! Is that why you were so nervous? You being a Celestial Dragon means nothing to me.”</p><p>“It does to me!” Nami wheezes out. A lot, in fact. Specifically, a car, a house, that dream vacation cruise around the Mediterranean she’s been planning ever since she met Vivi. </p><p>Silence again, more confused than tense. “Well,” Doflamingo mumbles. He clears his throat and uses a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “That certainly makes things less awkward.”</p><p>There. That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, or rather, the sign that Rosinante’s patience for his brother has completely run out. He throws his napkin on the table, shattering a delicate flute and spilling champagne all over the breadbasket. Good. He never liked bread anyway. “Are you fucking serious?!” he snarls. “Do you hear yourself?”</p><p>“Roci, sit down so we can continue with dinner-”</p><p>“Fuck your dinner! How can you expect this to be normal after all the shit you’ve just said?”</p><p>Doflamingo still has the nerve to smile, like this is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all week. Rosinante knows this is just bait to make him angrier, to put him on the losing side but for once, he wants to take it, see how far he can push. </p><p>“See,” he continues, turning to Bellmere while pointing at his brother. “This is why I didn’t want you to meet him! Not because I’m ashamed or anything but because he can’t stop being an asshole to save his life!”</p><p>“How am I the asshole? You came into my house and started insulting me!”</p><p>“Are you on fucking <em>crack</em>?”</p><p>“Roci, we can just lea-”</p><p>“This is what you do,” Rosinante huffs. His anger comes out in violent bouts of word vomit and he knows he’s too far gone to stop. “You keep spouting bullshit and just don’t care who gets hurt or offended. This is why your son won’t talk to you anymore”</p><p>Strike two. The mere mention of the prodigal son elicits a gasp from the family. Rosinante’s entire body tightens like a coil, ready to spring. Doflamingo hasn't moved yet but this just goes to show how mad he truly is. Rosinante picks up the signs; the balled fists, the veiny forehead, the crease between his brows. Not yet. He can push more, just a little bit.</p><p>“Bellamy has no place in this family anymore,” Gladius speaks up, voice stern. Next to him, Dellinger giggles. “He chose this for himself.”</p><p>“Is this how you raise your kids?” Rosinante asked in sheer disbelief. “To turn their backs on their own brother? Speak of him like he’s an enemy or something?”</p><p>“How dare you judge me as a parent?” Doflamingo demands. With both hands slammed down on the table, he springs up, leaning towards his brother with his teeth bared, glasses slipping off his nose far enough to reveal a hint of golden eyelashes. “You, who idolizes a man that abandoned his own children?!”</p><p>“You <em>wish</em> you were half the parent Dad is!” Rosinante barks. Doflamingo grits his teeth, fists curling around the wine-stained tablecloth. “Do you even love your kids or do you see them as your clones?”</p><p>“You wash your fucking mouth before you talk about my children.”</p><p>Rosinante pauses. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes to calm his breathing. Heart rate normal. He’s well aware of what he’s about to do, the logical part of his brain has long since gone dormant, beaten up by the need to see how much he can piss Doflamingo off.</p><p>“Crocodile was right,” he says. “Not only are you incapable of love, but you’re also unlovable yourself.”</p><p>Strike three. The dining room is knee-deep in silence, enough for the cars that come and go on the highway to sound mere centimeters away. Rosinante looks around the room, touching down on reality as the realization of what he just did dawns on him. It doesn’t take long for his previous anger to completely dissolve, instead replaced by sheer terror. In the short seconds it takes for his mind to clear, Doflamingo has lunged across the table, tight fists aimed at his brother’s face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Shanks wakes up slowly, taking his sweet time stretching and groaning, yawning obnoxiously. He rolls over, not surprised to see that the other side of the bed is empty. He runs his hand over the satin, wine-colored pillowcase and sighs. It’s still warm, heavy with the faint flowery scent of Mihawk’s shampoo. The curtains are drawn, letting the fresh morning light seep into the bedroom. Everything is more or less as he remembers it; dark, gloomy, yet homely, familiar in a way nothing is and never will be. His clothes from last night are nowhere to be seen, probably tossed into the laundry basket before Mihawk could get too mad about the mess. </p><p>With a roll of his shoulders and a groan, he sits up. The world is cold outside the bed but luckily, his ever-thoughtful lover has left out clothes for him, a fleece hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. They smell of that detergent Mihawk swears by and they fit a bit too perfect and that’s when Shanks realizes that they’re his clothes, left behind when he moved out. He expected whatever belongings he had forgotten about to be torn to shreds but instead, they’re washed and folded neatly, waiting until it’s time to be worn again. Not that he ever doubted it, but it’s nice to see he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t given up on this relationship.</p><p>The castle is quiet when he exits the main bedroom, just waking up. He looks outside one of the windows, to where the sun is rising above the treeline. Once the weather gets warmer, they’ll have their morning coffee out to the patio, listening to nature wake up along with them. </p><p>As expected, he finds Mihawk downstairs, already in the kitchen, making breakfast and coffee. He himself is sipping on a cup (black French press, occasionally hazelnut-flavored) and hums lightly as he adds a couple more eggs into the pan. Shanks leans against the doorframe, observing his lover with a lazy, content smile. He wants time to freeze at this moment, but he’s not granted this luxury. His presence is noted almost immediately and MIhawk turns around, scowling.</p><p>“Are you out of your mind?” he hisses. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Shanks steps into the kitchen. Breakfast smells good. He walks past Mihawk, as casual as ever, going to pour himself a cup. </p><p>Before he can take a sip, Mihawk has snatched it out of his grasp. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he scolds. “You have to leave before the kids wake up.”</p><p>Shanks rolls his eyes. There it is again. “Right. Because there’s nothing more terrifying or embarrassing than finding out your parents are back together again.”</p><p>“It’s not that.”</p><p>“Then what is it? Why are we still sneaking around and meeting in secret like we’re committing some unforgivable crime?”</p><p>Mihawk turns back to his pan. Shanks leans closer, searching for the other man’s gaze but Mihawk avoids him, lip curled in annoyance. “Do you intend on keeping this as an affair for much longer?” It’s exciting, Shanks has to admit, reminiscent of that time nearly thirty years ago when they used to sneak around and steal Rayleigh’s car for a short getaway. Even though things haven’t changed, time has, both of them have. They’re older and would much rather have a good night’s sleep than a nightclub and the taste of passerby lovers.</p><p>“For as long as I can.”</p><p>“May I ask why?”</p><p>Mihawk takes a sip of his coffee and continues to cook, barely casting even a glance at the redhead. “This is easy for you,” he says. “But I will always be the guy who got back together with the man who dumped him at the altar.”</p><p>“Is that all I am to you?”</p><p>“Guilty until otherwise proven.”</p><p>Shanks sits back up. He rolls his shoulders and clears his throat. “Alright,” he mumbles. “Let’s go get married now.” No response. “I’m serious.”</p><p>Mihawk snorts. He turns to the side, glancing at Shanks from head to toe. “In this?”</p><p>Shanks knows the bastard is mocking him but dammit, nothing in this world excites him more than this arrogance, the air of complete disregard Mihawk has. It’s another reminder that he can never be taken for granted, that Shanks can never relax around him and that he has to fight for his attention every day. </p><p>“I don’t give a shit. I’d marry you in a trash bag. I’d marry you naked.” Not that bad of an idea, come to think of it, though it might be a shocker for the guests. He loops his arm around Mihawk’s waist and pulls him closer, delighted to see that the other man lets him. “Marry me,” he says and kisses the scowl off of his lover’s lips. “Marry me.” Another kiss. “Marry me.” One more. </p><p>“This is hardly the time or place for this conversation to be had,” Mihawk whispers. His tone is warning, his eyes are cold but he leans into the kiss, hands around his lover’s shoulders, fingers digging into his scarlet locks. </p><p>The appearance of heavy footsteps coming their way cuts the make-out session short. Mihawk pushes Shanks away harshly. He grabs him by the hollow sleeve of his hoodie and shoves him into the pantry.</p><p>“Stay in here and keep your mouth shut,” he growls and slams the door on Shanks’ confused face. For safe measure, he locks. </p><p>Zoro walks into the kitchen, yawning sleepily and dragging his feet with every step. He pauses briefly, meeting his father’s gaze. Something feels slightly off but he’s not awake enough to dig further.</p><p>“Morning,” he grumbles.</p><p>“Good morning. You’re up early.” Zoro sits down on the breakfast bar. He only groans as a response and shoves his face in his hands. “Want me to make you your smoothie?” He nods. “Okay.”</p><p>“I have to go to the gym,” Zoro says after a few minutes of silence. </p><p>“I thought you pulled a muscle.”</p><p>“I can always use the other arm.”</p><p>“Recognizing your body’s signals is extremely important.” Mihawk moves to the fridge and starts taking out the ingredients he uses for the smoothies, not once stopping his rant. His son groans, annoyed, but a glare shuts him up. Mihawk speaks not only as a parent but as a coach. “If your body is telling you to rest, you have to listen to it.”</p><p>“It’s just a-” Zoro freezes. Those glares will never get less terrifying. He sighs. “Fine.”</p><p>“Daaaaad!” comes Perona’s voice from upstairs, filled with urgency and a hint of panic.</p><p>Mihawk wipes his hands on the nearest towel and leaves the kitchen, trusting his son to overlook breakfast. His daughter calls for him again and he picks up the pace, practically skipping up the stairs until he reaches her bedroom. No matter how many times he walks in here, he’ll never get used to how aggressively pink it is. Perona points at the top of her bookcase, where Mihawk spots her new kitten, cowering in a corner, too scared to come back down.</p><p>“How did he even get up there?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Perona laments. “I woke up and I couldn’t find him and then I heard him crying!” Edgar Allan Paw mewls desperately. “Grandpa’s coming, sweetie!”</p><p>Mihawk doesn’t even question his new title. He climbs on the nearest chair and reaches for the kitten. Its black fur has turned ash gray, courtesy of the overwhelming amount of dust that has accumulated on that spot. He turns back, ready to scold his daughter for, once again, not cleaning after her own mess at the age of 24, but she’s already gone. By the sound of it, she’s in the kitchen, bickering with her brother about how he’s disgusting for drinking juice straight from the bottle.</p><p>Wordlessly, Mihawk walks to the nearest broom closet. Oh, well. Saturdays are meant for cleaning, anyway. As he gathers his cleaning supplies, he freezes, brows furrowed as he stares down on a pair of lime green latex gloves.</p><p>“Am I forgetting something?” he muses. He tries to remember, though his mind doesn’t seem to be working in his favor. He stands back up and shrugs. If he can’t remember what it was, then it’s probably not that important.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes doflamingo had a kid at 17 lmao</p><p>hope you enjoyed this :D</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>that got a little sad in the end hehe </p><p>Next chapter is about Valentine's Day so it will be way lighter :D This one turned out a bit longer than I expected but I guess it was necessary to illustrate the basic dynamics of our story. Like I said, the more the story expands, the more this world will too! I really hope you stick around for what's to come and be as excited about reading as I am about writing! Thank you for reading and if you like, drop a comment to tell me some thoughts and guesses for what might follow :D You can also hmu on Twitter @_mollydewinter_</p></blockquote></div></div>
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